Unexpected Effects
by RussianWolf7
Summary: Two years after being impaled by the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, Harry starts noticing some...odd changes. During eighth year he can no longer pretend, and has to deal with what he's become. In order to do that, he has to get help from someone less-than-ideal. Over the years, Harry and Snape's relationship grows; now with an alternative Snarry ending. Rating to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** And now for something completely different!

This is the very first time I've written something that isn't a romance at heart. I've written things that don't _seem_ like romances, that have enough elements covering everything up that you can't tell it's a love story until the very end, but never anything like this. I'm super nervous about publishing it because you all know me as Drarry-Wonder (imagine me in a Superman pose with a cloak streaming out behind me with a picture of the two kissing), and this isn't Drarry.

But you should still give it a shot, because I think it's a pretty awesome story. It has its crack-y moments and its serious moments and its fluffy moments (just not romantic fluff) and, well, I think it's a pretty interesting story. It spawns from a prompt **NetherArum** gave me that I had a dream about that turned into this story.

I'm going to be publishing this on a MWF basis, and I'd ask you give it until Friday to decide whether or not you're going to stick it out. But if not, that's totally cool, and know that once this guy is done (thirteen chapters, I think, plus an epilogue, divided into three times a week is about a month and a half) there's going to be more Drarry goodness. Lots and lots of it.

So, enjoy! I hope!

**Chapter One**

**1**

Harry had a secret.

That was okay, everyone had secrets.

His was a little worse than most, though.

Most people, even by wizard standards, didn't turn into a monster every so often. Werewolves aside, of course. There was literature on werewolves, though, and the Wolfsbane potion. As far as Harry could tell, he was the first of a new species.

It didn't start right away, that was the weird thing. There was a two year gap from the time of the bite to the first symptoms, and then it was only that he had a penchant for chicken, the rawer the better. This was during the Tri-Wizard tournament, and his friends just assumed he was eating strangely because he was stressed out. Harry didn't disagree with them, although even then he suspected something strange might be happening.

The summer before fifth year, which he spent most of at Grimmauld Place with the Order, he noticed spiders scuttling away from him. This time Harry thought it innocuous; he assumed the spiders were just getting wise to their imminent demise. Hermione commented once or twice that spiders weren't known for running away, but Ron was so delighted he practically glued himself to Harry's side.

Several strange things happened over the course of sixth year. For one, he kept waking up to find his pillow had partially dissolved. At first he did a lot of yelling at his roommates, insisting they were pranking him, but the denials were so confused and vehement Harry had to admit they probably weren't behind it. And really, there were too many other things to worry about, so he mostly just ignored it.

The other thing was—and he really didn't know how to explain this—his skin seemed to be sort of…hardening. The first obvious incident was when Ron poked him angrily only to break his finger against his skin. He yelled the whole way to the infirmary, claiming Harry had invented some sort of new protection spell and it wasn't bloody fair because he hadn't been warned. Once Madame Pomfrey fixed him up he was much less angry and much more interested, despite Harry's claims that he hadn't done anything and it must have been Ron's delicate disposition that caused the injury, which Ron protested vehemently. Hermione observed all of this uncharacteristically quietly.

The year he was hunting Horcruxes he had mostly forgotten these few, strange occurrences. Everything else took precedence. Yes, there were no spiders, despite staying almost exclusively living in the woods. He was able to capture forest creatures as easily as Hermione could cook a can of beans, and after the first time he ate a raw squirrel and Hermione started a conversation he didn't want to have, he kept his new diet to himself. Especially because when he bit into them they seemed to dissolve before he could even start to chew. The tradeoff was that his pillows remained intact. His skin continued to harden, but that was easy enough to hide.

The official line between this-is-strange-but-I-have-other-things-to-focus-on and I'm-no-longer-entirely-human came the summer after defeating Voldemort and before his eighth year at Hogwarts. He'd been itchy for weeks, and his strengthened skin had taken to flaking off when he scratched, which led to disgusting messes all over the couch and, especially his bed. It escalated until he was doing laundry every day just to keep his bed from disappearing underneath a pile of oddly scale-shaped skin flakes.

Then, quite suddenly, the itching stopped. It was replaced by a loose sort of feeling. Harry felt like he should be panicking, but instead he calmly stripped down, lay down on the floor so he could use the carpet for traction, and slowly wriggled out of himself, leaving a Harry-shaped skin behind. Then he redressed, took the thing out back and burned it.

He spent the rest of the day going through the extensive library in Grimmauld Place looking for anything even vaguely related to his condition. He found plenty of books on dark creatures, and plenty on dark humanoid creatures—vampires, hags, werewolves, etc. There were none on his particular brand of were. Nor did he have anyone to talk to about it, not without becoming the worst sort of pariah, the sort that enticed mobs of angry villagers wielding torches and pitchforks.

And, well, it wasn't like he had actually _changed_ or anything. He might not be entirely human, but he did retain his human form, and didn't morph out of that. As long as that was the case—and as long as the eye-bit didn't kick in—he thought he'd be okay.

**2**

Until the second week of school.

Everything had been going so well, too. The castle had been completely repaired, he was doing well in classes, his friendships had only deepened from what they had been through, and there were significantly fewer Slytherins. That last bit was sort of ironic, but it made his life easier. Malfoy was still around, but he was no longer difficult and antagonistic, and in fact avoided Harry at all costs. Defense Against the Dark Arts wasn't starting up until October, when Snape would be released from St. Mungo's and declared fully recovered from Nagini's attack, so he enjoyed a month without being constantly degraded.

It was actually an interesting question, how Snape would treat him now that Harry knew what he knew.

But all of this was ruined late one Tuesday night. Harry was woken by a sudden, inescapable urge to go for a walk. He felt like he almost knew where he was going but not quite, so he threw on his invisibility cloak and sneaked out, letting his feet guide him.

It wasn't until he was standing in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom that he understood.

Speaking Parseltongue had never been easier, and Harry didn't even hear Myrtle yelling about who was there and how could they open the secret door if they were invisible. Harry walked through the underground passageways, then jogged, and finally broke out into an all-out sprint until he reached the Chamber of Secrets. He whipped off his cloak and looked around frantically, not knowing what he needed to do to trigger the transformation, only that it had to happen here, at least the first time.

He smiled to himself. The first time. That was an exciting thought.

Then the change started, and it wasn't nearly as romantic as Harry had been hoping. In fact it was excruciatingly painful, as his bones stretched, his skin tightening and hardening even further, his body lengthening, his face changing and his glasses falling off because he no longer had ears to hold them up. He screamed in pain, then his screams were replaced by hisses of agony, and then it was over and oh, he felt good.

Seven years after he had been bitten, Harry was finally, undeniably, beautifully, a were-Basilisk.

He laughed at the word. He'd need to think of something more creative and less ridiculous.

He spent the night slithering throughout the plumbing. Unlike a werewolf he retained his mental faculties, and as wonderful as this was, he didn't want to kill anyone, or even petrify them. There had been too much blood spilt during the war, he wasn't going to cause any more.

He was back in his bed, quite human, by the time his roommates woke up. He was also completely exhausted, and both Ron and Hermione spent the day worrying over him, convinced he hadn't slept due to memories of the war. Harry couldn't blame them; that was a far more reasonable explanation than turning into a Basilisk and roaming the pipes all night.

**3**

Harry was quite upset to find out that he had no control over when he was going to transform. Spending the night in the Chamber of Secrets didn't do it, and only resulted in him falling asleep on the grimy floor and being late to class the next morning. Talking to himself in Parseltongue, demanding himself to change, did nothing. There wasn't any rhyme and reason to it; one night he'd be completely normal, the next he'd spend the night as a Basilisk. It was very frustrating.

The first accident was due to this lack of control. He was in bed, asleep, and then he was changing, and breaking through the enchantments he'd placed on his curtains just in case of this very scenario. He tried to be quiet, but Dean woke up, and saw him. It was a little known fact that he wore contacts, and apparently the lack of proper eyesight was enough that he was only petrified instead of killed.

That night, not even the joy of being a snake was enough to shake the guilt, and when Dean was found in the morning and the inevitable panic broke out, Harry spent the day in his room, miserable, unable to leave his bed. Everyone assumed he was upset due to the memories of an enchanted Ginny and Tom Riddle's diary, and he was more than happy to let it go at that.

Professor Sprout once again had all her classes working with Mandrakes.

The second accident was a week later, when he was on his way to the Chamber. Even when he wasn't transforming, he found it comforting and as much like home as Gryffindor Tower. This time it was Myrtle, _again_, and Harry had to think up a way for her to be found without casting any suspicion on himself, since her bathroom was so infrequently visited. He ended up breaking a sink and letting the place flood, swishing the water underneath the door with his tail.

With only a week between what were assumed to be attacks, safety measures were immediately put into place. The six o'clock curfew, being escorted from lesson to lesson, Quidditch postponed, the buddy system, it was all back. Harry felt awful, nearly breaking down entirely as Professor McGonagall gave a nearly identical speech to the one from second year. Despite having broken up over the summer, it was Ginny who offered the most comfort, holding his hand and leaning her head on his shoulder after Professor McGonagall left and the common room descended into utter silence.

From that day on, Harry spent as much time as he could in the Chamber of Secrets, in case of another premature transformation. He nearly had a heart attack when Ron and Hermione appeared one night, but they didn't seem at all surprised to find him there. Harry remained in constant fear that night, but he stayed human, and they left in time for breakfast without incident.

Snape returned, and Harry once again had someone to focus his hatred on. He had expected Snape to treat him differently, given what he had seen in the Pensieve, but he was even worse than before. Harry would have been grateful for the distraction, even if said distraction was being tormented, if he weren't so worried his Basilisk self would attack Snape in revenge. As a result he went out of his way to be nice to Snape, to try to improve their relationship, but that only made Snape angrier and more hateful.

**4**

Harry continued to transform randomly, but it wasn't fun anymore. He spent his time as a Basilisk curled up in the Chamber of Secrets with his head tucked into his coils. When he dared to venture out he stayed confined to the pipes and spent the entire time listening for footsteps, of which there were a lot, due to nightly patrols. Every time he heard someone he stilled and closed his eyes until they passed, even though there were pipes and walls between him and any potential victims.

The accidents stopped. Hogwarts relaxed. The school's safety measures were withdrawn with the exception of the buddy system. Harry was more miserable than ever, confusing everyone. Hermione seemed to have forgotten all his strange behaviors in the years leading up to this and had no suspicions. There were no longer any spiders in the castle to avoid him, and Ron seemed to forget that the species had ever existed. The Mandrakes were slowly maturing. Everyone but Harry was in high spirits.

Spending his nights in the Chamber was miserable. He'd smuggled some blankets and a pillow, but they hardly took the edge off. It was cold and dank and contained a dead Basilisk slowly rotting along one wall that refused to be transfigured into something less depressing.

He wanted was the thrill back. He wanted to race through the school. He wanted to love his other body. He wanted to be invincible.

Instead he spent half his fortune on a phoenix, in case he bit someone. It was delivered anonymously to Headmistress McGonagall's office. He had to consciously prevent himself from visiting the petrified several times a day lest he seem suspicious. He convinced Slughorn to sign a note letting him into the restricted section of the library under the pretense of an intense love of potions. He spent hours and hours pouring over anything and everything that looked as if it might be helpful.

Being a new species had lost its charm.

**5**

The third accident was by far the worst.

Harry let himself out of the Chamber and onto the grounds, assuming he wouldn't run into anyone in the middle of the night. For the first time he felt free again, felt the excitement flood through him. He loved the feel of the cold grass against his scales, marveled how the moonlight reflected off him and, best of all, sped around as quickly as he could, just for the joy of it.

He was paying no attention to his surroundings, and he didn't realize he was by the greenhouses until much too late. Not only that, but he was so high on adrenaline he forgot what he was, so when he heard Hagrid's voice he jumped at the chance to see his friend. He slithered around to the front of greenhouse three, where Hagrid was trying to convince Professor Sprout that he could grow the mandrakes to record sizes, despite her insistence that it wouldn't do anything other than create a need for daily repotting.

They saw him through the frosted glass and were petrified.

This time Harry did break down, becoming hysterical when Professor McGonagall made the announcement. He had to be escorted to the infirmary and given several bars of chocolate as well as a calming draught. He was forced to stay in the infirmary for a full hour to make sure he didn't require more of the potion, which was incredibly stupid, given all the curtains drawn around the petrified.

He had another breakdown when he realized Professor Sprout was no longer capable of growing the mandrakes. This had been announced already, but it didn't register until a very pale and resigned Neville said that he needed to leave dinner to go down to the greenhouses to check on the mandrake's progress. Professor McGonagall herself escorted him, while Ron and Hermione brought Harry back to the infirmary for another round of chocolate and calming droughts.

Harry locked himself in the Chamber of Secrets that night. He put up protections spells, jinxes on all the exits, transfigured rocks to the size of boulders and blocked any passages out. He did transform that night, and spent the entire time buried in his coils, eyes squeezed closed.

The next day Hermione caught him before he had a chance to shower off the grime of the Chamber. He panicked when she pulled him aside, and nearly had a heart attack when she asked if that was where he had been. He started to deny it, but she interrupted him with a tight hug and, in a croaky, tear-filled voice told him there was nothing more to be learned from the Chamber and he was only making himself miserable. Harry cried with her, feeling even guiltier that his tears were those of relief rather than for Hagrid and the others. He hadn't been caught. He was safe. And Neville was proving to be more than competent with the mandrakes, though they still wouldn't be ready for many, many months, so everything was going to be okay. He might have to spend the rest of his life in seclusion, but he hadn't killed anyone, and he would never make the mistake of leaving the Chamber again.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** First off, I'm so happy you guys seem to like this! I'm especially amazed by the number of people telling me this is original and like nothing they've ever read before; that just about makes me burst with joy :D

Also, I think you should know that I had an Epic Quest dream last night where Moaning Myrtle was my best friend (she was awesome, it was a good thing) and Severus and I were together, only then he got transported away by a spell gone awry and I thought I would never see him again, but then (after more weird, dream stuff happened) he came back, and I was positively _ravished_. It was the best thing ever and I needed to share it with people who would appreciate.

Anywho, enjoy chapter two!

**Chapter Two**

**6**

A few weeks later, in the middle of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry had an idea so obvious he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it before. He let out a surprised, excited yelp and knocked his book off his desk. Snape sneered at him and asked what, precisely, was suddenly so exciting about underwater protection spells. Thinking fast, Harry said that if he had known them for the second task of the Tri-Wizard tournament, that would have been useful. Again, Snape asked why that was relevant, and when Harry didn't have an answer, Gryffindor was docked five points.

Harry nearly approached Snape after class, but by the time his classmates filed out the next class was entering, and he was hardly alone. So he quickly caught up with Ron and Hermione, spending the rest of the day lost in thought as to how he could get Snape alone long enough to ask, never mind how to bring up the subject.

He spent several days contemplating these questions, even in his Basilisk form, which was coming out more and more frequently. Eventually he decided on a course of action and the very next day he found himself knocking on Snape's office door when he was supposed to be at lunch. He would have preferred to wait until evening, but that would hardly be safe.

"Come in," Snape said distastefully, as if he already knew it was Harry at his door. Harry opened the door as little as possible and squeezed through. Snape looked up from his desk and gave him a disdainful look. "What do you want, Potter? How can I be of service to the savior of the wizarding world?"

Harry flinched and stayed pressed against the door, keeping his eyes on his shoes. They were disgusting from spending so much time in the Chamber, covered in grime and dirt and—

"If you're going to say something then say it," Snape remarked scornfully. "I do not intend to spend my entire lunch hour waiting for you to ask whatever pathetic—"

"Y'know the Wolfsbane potion?" Harry interrupted.

Snape didn't answer right away. "You know I am familiar with it."

"I was wondering if there were other potions, for other sorts of were-creatures," Harry asked, eyes still on his sneakers. "I've been growing more and more interested in potions, the more difficult the better—you can ask Professor Slughorn, he's given me permission to be in the restricted section of the library—and I know how volatile Wolfsbane is, so I thought maybe there was something along the same lines but a bit easier to start with." He had thought of this excuse in the wee hours of the morning, and was pleased with himself.

"There are no other were-creatures, Potter," Snape replied, his vague interest replaced by boredom. "I'd think if you were so interested in such things, you would have figured that out by now."

Harry thought that was true, but he had been really hoping there was just one other were, making the lead-in less awkward. "I didn't come across any, no," he said carefully. "But I was thinking, since there are no messages from the supposed Heir of Slytherin, and the Chamber of Secrets has been searched exhaustively, maybe it would be possible for someone here, at Hogwarts, to have become a, er, were-Basilisk?"

Snape was completely silent for a very long time. Then Harry heard the snick of the door being locked, and his heart sped up.

"Werewolves are created when an uninfected human is bit by a wolf in its changed state," he said eventually. "With the absence of any documentation of were-Basilisks, as you say, there would be no one to pass down the disease."

"Well, maybe just a bite from one would be enough," Harry said, growing more and more quiet. "I've researched that, too, and there are no cases of anyone surviving a Basilisk bite, so we can't really know, can we?"

An even longer silence, and that was really not a bright thing to have said, because there was a documented case, a single one, and that was Harry.

"Except for yourself."

Harry couldn't look up, wouldn't have been able to even under the Imperius Curse. "Right, that hadn't occurred to me," he said, this time his voice unnaturally high. "I guess that proves there isn't such a thing. Sorry for wasting your time, Professor." He turned around and tried to leave before remembering Snape had locked the door.

"Even you are not that dull, Potter," Snape said. "If you were seriously considering the possibility of such a human-Basilisk hybrid, you would be your own case study."

"I suppose," Harry said.

A very, very, _very_ long pause.

"Potter, are you trying to tell me you have become this creature?"

Harry leaned his head against the door. This had been stupid. Beyond stupid. Idiotic. Snape was going to send him to Azkaban, he would go from being the Golden Boy to the most dangerous sideshow attraction ever, and he'd spend the rest of his life locked up and studied in some basement laboratory of the prison.

Unless Snape decided just to outright kill him, which Harry certainly wouldn't blame him for.

"Um," Harry whispered. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" Snape asked dangerously. "You cannot 'maybe' turn into a murderous snake. Either you do or you don't, there's no middle ground."

Harry closed his eyes. "Yes, Professor," he said so quietly he was amazed Snape had heard him at all.

"And you have come to me in hopes of a potion to retain your mental faculties while you are in your changed form," Snape said, remarkably unsurprised.

"Well, um, no, not exactly," Harry stammered. "I'm fine in that regard. All the attacks, as you have called them, they were all accidents. I feel awful about it, you have no idea. I was wondering if there was a potion to, er, deactivate my eyes."

To Harry's extreme shock, Snape sounded more intrigued than anything else. "There are several curses that blind," he said. "I assume you have tried these?"

Harry's eyes flew open. "Er, no, that hadn't occurred to me."

Snape sighed irritably. "Why you are known for your mental prowess I can only guess. Come back to me if those don't work."

The click of the door unlocking.

"You—you're not going to turn me in?"

More silence. "I owe you a great deal, Harry Potter, far more than I wish. As dangerous as you are, you know it, and I have no doubt the attacks were accidents. You were always fond of that oaf. Provided there are no more accidents, I will keep your secret."

Harry's mouth hung open. "Thank you."

"In fact, it was dangerously irresponsible for you not to come to me sooner," Snape continued. "As both the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and potions master, it should have been obvious you seek out my assistance.

"Now get out of my office so I can finish my lunch."

**7**

Harry changed that night. He was excited again, and just that rush was enough that it was worth it. Except he had a lot of trouble with his wand, and frustration quickly took over. He couldn't pick it up because he had no hands. He didn't want to lie on it and risk crushing it. He couldn't point it at himself because he couldn't pick it up.

Then he realized he could. He wrapped his tail around his wand and pointed it at himself. The question then became whether spells cast in Parseltongue would work, or if he was even speaking Parseltongue or just regular hissing.

He tried the blinding jinx. To his delight, his eyes were obscured by a black cloud. His elation lasted for a few seconds before the cloud vanished.

Next he tried the blinding hex. His vision went blurry for a moment before returning to normal.

The only other spell he had come across was a blinding curse, which permanently destroyed eyesight. Harry was willing to try it, but not yet. He made a deal with himself—if he killed anyone, he'd do everything in his power to destroy his eyes, from a curse down to flaming pokers, if it came to that. But, until then, he'd wait.

He curled up into his coils. Even if those spells had worked, he wouldn't be able to see, which defeated the point. He retained his mental faculties, as Snape had put it, and was fully capable of staying in the Chamber while he was transformed. It was freedom that he wanted.

He needed to talk to Snape again.

**8**

Harry once again went to Snape's office during lunch and knocked.

"Come in, Potter."

Harry did, glaring at his professor. "What was that about?" he asked. "What if it wasn't me? What would you have done then?"

Snape glared at him. "You think I'm so stupid? I've cast spells around myself to alert me to your presence, in case you change your mind and decide to kill me."

Harry flushed. "Oh. Right."

"I take it the spells failed to impair your vision?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Also, well, I'd like to be able to see."

Snape's eyes widened. "You like being a Basilisk?"

Harry closed his eyes. "Not hurting people, I hate that."

"Yes, yes, so you've said," Snape said, irritated. "Other than that, though, you enjoy your other form."

Harry nodded silently.

Snape considered. "Sit, Potter. This is going to take some time."

Harry risked a glance at his professor. Still, even with this knowledge, Snape didn't seem repulsed. Just curious. And, if Harry was reading him right, maybe even excited at the challenge. Harry slipped away from the door and sat at his desk.

"The Wolfsbane potion isn't remotely useful," Snape said, getting up and running a finger along his many books. "You know who you are, that's not an issue. You need something to deactivate your vision. There were many attempts at this when Basilisks roamed the land, but since their supposed extinction centuries ago, there was no need to continue. Not only that, but there are no creatures other than the Basilisk who can kill with their eyes, so there is nothing current to modify. However…" He pulled a book off the shelf and returned to his desk, flipping it open to the right page.

"What's that?"

"The last mention of the potion," Snape replied. "Five centuries old, but perhaps there is something here that can help your cause." He fell into silence, reading the passage. Harry fidgeted nervously. "You can go, Potter. This will take more time than I had anticipated. I will summon you when you are needed."

Harry stood and was almost out the door when Snape spoke again.

"You have been spending your nights in the Chamber of Secrets, haven't you?"

Harry paused. "Yes, Professor."

"I must be very careful in deciding where to brew this potion," he said. "Regardless of the protection spells on my office, there are alarms in place regarding Basilisks. It is not possible for me to attempt this in my office. When do you take to the Chamber?"

"No," Harry said immediately. "No, you're not coming with me. What if I looked at you?"

Snape looked up from his book and gave Harry a very irritated look. "Don't," he said shortly. "On the nights you don't transform you will help me with the brewing, and on the nights when you do, we will perform tests."

"Wouldn't those alarms be even stronger on the Chamber?" Harry asked. "Given how that's where the Basilisk came from last time."

"It's been officially sealed," Snape replied. "Impossible to get in or out. It was thought no one in the school could speak Parseltongue, but it seems that gift has stayed with you. Besides, all pipe exits are being monitored. Now tell me, Potter, when do you enter? Unlike you, I do not have the gift of Parseltongue."

Harry fidgeted again. "Eight," he said eventually. "I used to go in later, but—"

"Fine," Snape interrupted. "I will meet you at the entrance then."

Harry's hand was on the door when Snape asked, "How are you explaining your continued absence to your roommates?"

"Enchanted curtains," he said. "I go to bed, enchant the curtains closed, put on my cloak and perform a Disillusionment charm so I can get out of the curtains without being noticed. I sneak back in before anyone wakes up and pretend I've never left."

Snape nodded curtly. "Very well. Eight it is."

**9**

Professor Snape was already there when Harry showed up. He was very relieved; he had been terrified Snape would arrive late and he would have already transformed and something terrible would happen. As it was, he didn't change at all that night.

Harry didn't know what he had been expecting, but the night was like the most difficult, boring, endless potions lesson he'd ever had. In fact, that's exactly what it was. Snape lectured him on the history, chastised him for not preparing the ingredients correctly, even outright yelled at him a few times for being, as he called it, "an insufferable, idiotic, egotistical prat". Those words, exactly, three or four times.

He also accused Harry of faking it, of dragging him on a fool's errand to humiliate him in front of the entire school. Harry pointed out, quite angrily, that he could hardly bring the whole school down here, now could he? To which Snape just glared angrily and returned to his book. Harry, however, continued on, telling him that he had no control over his changing or even any idea when it would happen, that he'd spent a long time trying to find a pattern with no luck whatsoever, and if he could control it, of course he'd turn into a giant, deadly snake just for Snape's benefit but, unfortunately, he wasn't quite that brilliant.

"That will be our next project, then," Snape said, calming in the face of another impossible potion. "Once we've got your eyes under control, we'll investigate your ability to change. In the mean time, write down absolutely everything. The dates, the times, the phases of the moon, anything you can possibly think of."

"Fine," Harry said, shoving over a pile of orange zest.

"It was very foolish of you not to have kept a detailed account of your transformations already," Snape replied, carefully looking at the consistency of the zest. "If you were truly dedicated to finding a pattern, we'd already have—how long did you say this has been going on?"

"Since the second week of school," Harry said. "There were signs for years, but I didn't figure it out until I actually changed."

"Of course not," Snape said, returning the zest to Harry. "Finer."

Harry ground his teeth together.

"That would have given us several months worth of data we are missing," Snape continued. "Now tell me about these signs."

Harry ended up not transforming for a full week, by the end of which Snape would barely speak to him at all, and what little he did say revolved entirely around accusing Harry of faking it in order to feed his "insatiable ego". Though, Harry pointed out, he was still here, and they were still brewing the potion.

"As long as there's a chance you're not lying and I might be able to get you under control, I won't stop," Snape said smoothly, though Harry could hear the anger in his voice. "Now chop these—"

Snape cut off. Harry smirked, just for a moment, before the pain was too much and he started screaming. He had no idea how long the transformation took, only that it seemed like ages, and even longer when he kept his eyes closed the whole time.

"I told you," Harry said, coiling around and hiding his face. Then he realized he was hissing, and Snape had no idea what he was saying. He couldn't even smirk properly, not with a snake's face, especially not when he couldn't look at the man.

"You—" Snape tried. "You—you weren't lying."

"Of course not," Harry hissed irritably.

"The potion isn't ready yet," Snape said, and he sounded exactly like himself again. "You'll just have to sit there while I work."

"Finally," Harry muttered. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

He woke up five or six hours later. Snakes required much less sleep than humans, which worked out well, given all his sleepless nights wandering as the Basilisk. Not to mention his sleepless nights shivering in the Chamber, and now his sleepless nights staying up brewing with Snape. He had supplied them with a very strong version of Pepper Up, and that helped, but the only thing that really worked was spending as much time possible as a snake. He nearly uncurled before remembering he wasn't alone. Instead he hissed loudly, hoping to tell Snape he was awake.

"Good night's sleep, Potter?" Snape asked irritably. Harry heard the sound of Snape drinking something, no doubt Pepper Up. "Not all of us are so lucky."

Harry hissed angrily.

"Don't bother, you know I can't understand you," Snape replied. "I wrote down when you transformed, by the way. It failed to occur to me that you cannot write when in your current form. Nor can we communicate, so just stay curled up like that until you change back."

"I'm teaching you Parseltongue on the nights I'm not changed," Harry replied. He had spent a lot of time curled up like this, yes, but he'd gotten used to having company, no matter how difficult Snape was.

"Can't understand you," Snape replied. "Stay quiet, I need to focus."

The next three nights were much the same, but on the fourth Harry didn't transform.

"I'm teaching you Parseltongue," Harry said as soon as he entered the bathroom. "It's bollocks we can't talk when I'm a Basilisk. Open the passage."

Snape stared at him. "Parseltongue cannot be taught, Potter," he said. "It's a genetic trait."

"Then rewrite your genes," Harry said. "Open the passage."

Snape's stare changed to a glare. "Watch your mouth, Potter."

"Open the bloody passage," Harry snapped. "Otherwise we're going to stay in this bathroom all night long."

"And if you change?" Snape asked.

"Then I'll lay against the door, blocking it, and close my eyes," he said. "I can stand another few nights of being stuck with my eyes closed, and I'd bet you a hundred Galleons you're too excited to get back to work to not try."

Snape was furious. "I cannot speak Parseltongue!" he said again. "Your stubbornness is not going to change that! And," he added, almost as an afterthought, "I do not wager with students."

"I'll give you ten minutes of trying," Harry said, taking out his wand and conjuring a countdown. "If you can't get it by then, I'll open it."

"You're an idiot," Snape replied angrily. "All you're doing is delaying your own cure."

"The countdown doesn't start until you try," Harry said calmly. "Don't you think it would be useful if we could have spent the last three nights talking? As much as you hate me, you hate it even more when I clam up and refuse to tell you about this, which I will do if you don't even attempt to learn. You need as much information as you can get, you say. Spending three nights curled up hissing at you can't be as useful."

"Fine," Snape spat. "You're only wasting your own time."

Harry started the clock.

Snape didn't even come close, but at least that gave them something to talk about other than going over the progression of Harry's condition over and over again. Snape ended up so frustrated he knocked a pile of bat eyes to the floor, after which he declared the teaching session over for the night. He made Harry spend the rest of the night cleaning the eyes, which was a huge waste of time because a simple _Aguamenti_ would have fixed it, but apparently this new phase of their relationship hadn't tempered Snape's penchant for punishment.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Sorry this is so short, guys. I wrote the whole story and then went back and added in chapter breaks once it was done. The result is that they're quite well-planned in terms of plot, but a bit more random in terms of length.

Anyway, I hope you still enjoy, and rest assured the next chapter is unduly long :)

**Chapter Three**

**9**

They finished the potion two days later.

Harry didn't change again for two weeks, which Snape seemed to take personally. They had turned the Chamber into a sort of dormitory; they had two separate "rooms", walls made of four sheets suspended in mid-air. Harry moved his rudimentary bed over to his room, and transfigured a few spare rocks into a desk and a chair, as well as a dresser so he could stop sprinting up to Gryffindor Tower every morning. He did homework, played himself at chess, continued to read up on snakes and potions and werewolves, just in case, and slept. He didn't know what Snape did on his side; presumably grading and being a git.

Explaining his disappearance to his friends was getting harder and harder. With the lack of attacks his excuse of being bombarded by memories was getting less and less realistic. He still "woke up" in his dorm, took meals, went to his classes, and studied with his friends, but he'd beg off for an early night a little bit before eight every evening. Ron became convinced he was having a secret affair, while Hermione stayed disturbingly silent. With each passing day Harry became more and more concerned that she was putting the pieces together and figuring out what he was, but she didn't approach him, and he was hardly about to offer up an explanation. He encouraged Ron's idea by forcing himself to blush or his voice to crack whenever the subject was brought up, so a lot of their time spent together consisted of him questioning Harry about who he was seeing, and also how Harry was suddenly so much better at chess.

Harry missed his real bed desperately. He missed falling asleep with his friends. He missed not spending the night with someone who despised him. A few times he had nearly extended some sort of friendship towards Snape but always chickened out at the last minute, remembering how terribly he was treated or, on particularly difficult days when he hated everything, how his dad had treated him when they were at Hogwarts, during which times he felt too guilty to even think about talking to him. But, that night two weeks later, he had finally decided he'd ask Snape for a game of chess, if only because a truce would hopefully lessen the abuse he suffered at the hand of his professor

He changed his mind when they met in the bathroom. Harry still insisted on ten minutes of attempted Parseltongue every night, and Snape was getting more and more bitter about it, so by the time they arrived in the Chamber they were already in a screaming match. Then, quite suddenly, Harry transformed, and then he _really_ wished Snape could speak Parseltongue because they hadn't worked out how Harry would try the potion when he couldn't open his eyes, nor how he would test it without potentially killing Snape.

Once Snape finished his record of the day, time and moon phase he started muttering to himself about the logistics. He considered pouring the liquid down Harry's throat before remembering about his fangs, and what one slip of the arm could cause. He thought of leaving the potion in front of Harry and walking away, but with no hands Harry couldn't pick it up, and the cauldron was much too small for him to drink from. Then it seemed he remembered he was a wizard and decided to hover the cauldron over to Harry and pour it into his mouth while Harry kept his eyes shut.

But before he could do that, they needed a way to test the potion. There were no rodents around to be used as test subjects; the protection spells on the room extended to even the smallest of life forms. Snape ended up having to dismantle the spells, _Accio_ a rat over, put it in an enchanted cage, redo the charms, and then feed Harry the potion.

"Remember," he said. "Don't open your eyes until I tell you its safe."

"I'm not an idiot," Harry hissed angrily.

"Open your mouth."

Harry did, eyes still closed.

"Also remember we don't know what this is going to do," Snape added. "It could permanently blind you. It could kill you. It could do anything you can think of. I won't have you blaming me if you end up blind."

"I know," Harry said for the thousandth time, even though he knew Snape couldn't understand him. They'd been over this repeatedly.

"Prepare yourself," Snape said, and to his credit he sounded a little nervous. Then again, Harry was sure that was due to the unknown effects of his precious potion rather than over Harry's well being. "Here we go."

The potion tasted disgusting, like rotten eggs, but Harry gulped it down. He waited for Snape to tell him it was safe to open his eyes, and he cautiously cracked one open. He had missed seeing with his snake eyes. They were so much powerful in the dark than his human eyes, and could pick out details he'd never be able to see, like the hair follicles on the now stone rat. He hissed angrily. He hadn't really expected the potion to work the first time, but it was still a disappointment. He tapped his tail twice, the signal that it hadn't worked, and curled back up, tucking his head in his coils. He tapped his tail again, the sign that he was safe.

Snape was muttering angrily under his breath, and while Harry could hear due to his enhanced hearing, he chose to ignore the curses. Snape didn't care in the slightest for Harry's feelings, he was merely upset that his precious potion hadn't worked. All he could do was coil up with his eyes trained on himself and wait for any potential side effects to kick in.

Harry turned purple twenty minutes later.

He was not pleased. He liked his bright green scales. He was known for his green eyes, and it was good to retain his coloring even in his Basilisk form. Anything he could do to annoy Snape would only delay his research, which in no way benefited him.

When he transformed back his hair remained purple. He spent a long time trying to charm it back to black, and then Snape spent an even longer time attempting to fix it. Nothing worked. He was late to his dorm and had to make up a quick excuse as to where he'd been and why his hair was purple. The hair was easy—he blamed Peeves, which wasn't questioned—but he was stammering over an excuse as to why he was so late until Ron cut in, saying this proved Harry was seeing someone. He denied it, but Ron's excuse stuck, and he was free.

**10**

Harry talked to Professor Slughorn and was sent off with an armful of ingredients and a hastily jotted down recipe. He spent his night working on that, much to Snape's annoyance, but a few hours later his hair was back to normal. It turned out that, despite Snape's muttering while he was focused on something other than their potion, there wasn't actually anything for him to do. Snape had gone back to research, so he finished up his potions homework, musing at the irony, and went to bed.

He was woken up a few hours later by a loud thump and even louder cursing. He groaned, put on his glasses, and looked over at Snape.

"What's wrong?"

"Incomplete notes!" he yelled. "Shoddy documentations! An entire lack of reasoning for _any _of the ingredients! I might as well throw in whatever's at hand, that'll have a better chance of succeeding than this!"

Harry was still quite asleep when he said, "Let's play chess, then. Take a break. Then go to bed, and look at it again tomorrow night. Maybe it'll make more sense then."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Putting this off isn't going to make it any easier, Potter. Words aren't magically going to appear just because I want them to."

"Take a break," Harry said again. "Do more research in the morning. You've got a thousand books. Something's got to be helpful."

"No, something does _not_ have to be helpful," Snape replied angrily. "You should be more upset than I. This entire project is for your benefit."

"I've worked out a fairly decent schedule," Harry said. "I'm surviving."

"Don't you dare tell me you want to back out now," Snape said dangerously.

"Of course I don't," Harry said irritably. "I'm just saying half a night won't matter."

Snape sighed. "Fine. I'll go to bed." He disappeared behind the sheet. "Why are you still down here when you only transform at the beginning of the night? You're clearly safe for now, why not go to bed in your own dorm?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Harry said. "As for myself, we don't know anything for sure. I'm not risking it."

"I'm so glad you're so concerned about my well-being," Snape said icily.

"Then leave," Harry said, too tired to care much.

"I'd thank you not to order me around, Potter," he replied. "Besides, it's too much work. All my things are down here."

"Well there you go," Harry said. "Shut up, would you? I'm trying to get back to sleep. Arguing with you isn't helping."

"Insubordinate jackass," Snape muttered.

"Yeah, well," Harry started, trying to come up with a reasonable insult. "You're a prat." He sounded like a petulant five year old, and probably shouldn't be calling his professor names, but after spending every night together for several months, formalities were slowly slipping away.

"I can still dock points," Snape replied.

"No you can't," Harry said. "How'd you explain that? 'Oh, Harry Potter called me names in the Chamber of Secrets where we've been living for months.' That'd go over well."

"Stop talking," Snape said angrily.

"_You _stop talking," Harry said moodily. He was trying to sleep, dammit. Those supposed formalities, they were just too hard to keep up when he was this tired.

"I can still fail you," Snape shot back.

"Yeah, try failing Harry Potter at Defense Against the Dark Arts," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "That'll be completely believable."

"For Merlin's sake shut up," Snape spat.

Harry didn't respond, and was asleep a few minutes later.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** And oops, this just proves my point even further. Last chapter was seven pages, this guy is 37. Let's just go with the flow, yes?

Also, happy holidays, my good friends! I have received Hanukah gifts and have a ten foot tall Christmas tree in my living room that's only half covered in lights because it's so giant we ran out. Whatever holidays you and yours celebrate, let them be wonderful :)

And, of course, enjoy!

**Chapter Four**

**11**

Ron couldn't understand why Harry would rather stay at Hogwarts for holiday than the Burrow, especially given the attacks. Harry finally came out and said that yes, he was seeing someone, and yes, they were staying behind, and he was looking forward to having the dorm empty for a few weeks. That turned out to be a terrible idea, because Ron copied down the list of those staying, which was very, very small, and wouldn't shut up about it.

Then, quietly, Hermione suggested perhaps Harry was seeing a professor.

_That_ was why she had been so quiet about all this? Harry could have hugged her, were that not so suspicious. Instead he yelled that she was being ridiculous and stormed up to his room. That confirmed her suggestion, and he was left alone after that as Ron reformulated his plan of attack.

The castle was depressingly empty once everyone left. Neville was staying to keep an eye on the mandrakes, but other than that the only other Gryffindors were a pair of first year twins Harry didn't know. At dinner it was obvious the other houses had fared much the same. Luna had stayed, which was very nice, but other than that, Harry didn't know anyone. Like other years the professor and student tables were condensed into one, and Harry wasn't happy at all that Snape was now infringing on his meals as well as his nights and classes.

Snape was pushing to finish the potion even more than before, which didn't surprise Harry at all. If there was anyone who would get grumpy around the holidays, it was Snape. He hadn't seen anything related to Christmas in his memories, but he was just that sort of person. He finished brewing the second generation of potion a few days before Christmas, and they only had to wait a single night for Harry to transform. This time they were prepared with a rat, signals, and _Wingardium Leviosa_.

This potion tasted like cherry cough syrup. Harry choked it down, then tested it on the rat. He had a moment of brilliant excitement when it didn't immediately die, but the two-second delay was even more difficult than if it had just turned to stone outright. Harry slammed his tail down twice, then curled up very tightly, all but crushing his head in the process.

In a moment of uncharacteristic sympathy, Snape said, "That means we're getting somewhere."

"No," Harry hissed.

"Yes," Snape replied. His Parseltongue was very, very basic, but he was finally learning a few words. "How long did it last?"

Harry slammed his tail down twice again.

"Two seconds is better than nothing," Snape said. "It needs tinkering, obviously, but this is how creating a new potion goes—one step at a time."

"I hate you," Harry said.

"I know that one, too," Snape replied. "Shut up and let me get back to work."

**12**

Christmas morning with Neville was nice. They each had a large pile of gifts, and opening them together was almost as good as being at the Weasleys. The house elves had outdone themselves on breakfast, as well as lunch and dinner, but the morning and the meals were the highlights of Harry's day. There was no one to play chess with, no one to complain about Weasley sweaters, no creative ways to dispose of the treacle Hagrid hadn't been able to send. He moped around and went straight to the Chamber after dinner. He no longer had to wait for Snape, who had managed _Open_ quite some time ago.

To Harry's surprise he was already there, brewing away.

"Getting an early start?" Harry asked, settling down on the bench.

"We're close, I told you," Snape said.

"No we're not," Harry sighed, leaning his head on his arms, looking at him sideways. "So I managed two seconds. What ingredient caused it? Do we need more or less of it? Does it need another ingredient entirely? Was the brewing time off? We have no idea. Merry bloody Christmas."

"Oh, that's for you, by the way."

Harry gaped. There was a wrapped gift at the end of the table that he had entirely missed. "You got me a Christmas gift?" he asked. "What? Why?"

Snape sighed. "It's tradition, Potter. Just take it."

Harry slid over the package and opened it. It contained a small vial of a purple-ish grey potion. It looked disgusting. "What is it?"

"A potion I invented," Snape said, carefully stirring the current potion. "To prove to you inventing new potions can be done."

Harry picked up the vial, investigating it. "What does it do?"

"It's a relaxation brew," he replied. "I thought today might be hard for you."

Harry couldn't get past this sudden niceness. "Um, thanks." He uncorked the vial and downed it. It tasted like lilacs. At first there was nothing, but then all his muscles relaxed, his troubles seemed to melt away, and he suddenly didn't mind that it was Christmas and he was stuck in the Chamber of Secrets waiting to see if he would turn into a monster or not. "Ooh," he sighed. "You invented this? You should sell it."

"Maybe one day," Snape said. "Getting a potion accepted and patented is hell. Sort of takes the point of relaxation away."

"Yeah but…" Harry trailed off. He couldn't think, and it was delightful. "I'm sorry I didn't get you anything."

"That would require a working brain, Potter, and I've learned not to expect that from you," Snape said.

"I don't even care," Harry said. "That's how good your potion is. I'm complimenting you after you insult me. You should really get on patenting this."

Snape smiled. It was tiny and tight, but more than Harry had ever seen before. "Once I'm done dealing with you, we'll see."

"Mm," Harry sighed. "Do you have any more of this? You should relax too. It's Christmas. Which I don't even hate anymore."

"I know it's hard to believe, but there are wizards who actually enjoy brewing potions," Snape replied. "And I happen to be one of them."

"Yeah but—" Harry tried. "But it's good to relax. Also I feel guilty about taking up all your time and all your sleep and everything, so my gift to you is not having to work on my potion tonight. If you don't accept it then you're the same tight ass you've always been and this means nothing."

Snape paused stirring. "You're a brat," he decided on, though he did put the stirrer away. "You should know I'm only stopping because it needs time to cook."

"Yeah, alright," Harry said amicably. Everything was amicable. Things hadn't been amicable since he'd petrified Dean. But even that was going to be okay, because Neville was brilliant and the mandrakes would fix everything and, for the first time since it happened, Harry realized it wasn't his fault. Probably, his brain was a bit fuzzy.

Snape pulled out an identical bottle from his robes and drank it slowly, savoring the flavor. Then he sighed, and genuinely smiled. "It's been a while since I've used this. Christmas is a good time. I haven't had a good Christmas in years."

"Last Christmas was awful," Harry agreed. "I nearly died. Because of a snake, actually. Not a Basilisk, though. Nagini."

Snape snorted. "You're not allowed to say you were almost killed by that wretched thing, not to me."

"Oh, right," Harry said. "Sorry. Though I'm glad you shared your memories with me, even if my dad was kind of a dick."

"We're relaxing," Snape said. "I don't want to talk about your dad."

"Okay," Harry said. He stretched. His muscles were so relaxed, it was wonderful. He transfigured the bench into a plushy couch and moved the potions table that was now at exactly eye-height out of the way. He stretched out and sighed happily. "I'm glad my mum was nice to you. You should have more people be nice to you."

"Potter, quit it," Snape said. "Leave my memories alone."

"Okay," Harry repeated. He transfigured Snape's bench into a couch as well. "There, that's relaxing."

Snape shifted around. "You make comfy couches."

Harry laughed. "Thanks. You make excellent relaxing potions." He conjured a small, low table between them and summoned his chess set. "Here. Let's play."

Snape was, unsurprisingly, a very good chess player. It took all of Harry's focus, not to win, which wouldn't be possible, but not to lose horribly. With the relaxation potion at work, all his focus meant, at most, perhaps forty percent of his mental faculties. The resulting loss was quick and painful. As Snape reset, Harry asked,

"Have you seen my mum since she died?"

He stilled. "What sort of a question is that? No, Potter, I haven't dug up her grave to stare wistfully at her bones."

Harry frowned and chucked a pawn at him. "That's not what I mean. I've seen her twice, once when I first battled Voldemort in the graveyard, and once with the resurrection stone when I was going to my death."

Snape replaced the pawn on the board. "No, I haven't."

"Well, you should know she protected me even after she died," Harry said.

"How very nice for you."

Harry rolled onto his side so he could see Snape properly. "I thought it might make you feel better," he said. "Knowing that my mum took care of me."

"I already know she was an exceptional person, I do not need to hear further details," Snape said icily. Despite playing as black, and despite having won the previous game, he ordered his pawn forward. "Your move."

Harry didn't reply right away, and when he did, it wasn't to direct chess pieces. "You saw my memories when you were teaching me Occulmency. That makes us even, for me seeing yours in the Pensieve."

"No, Potter, it does not," Snape said darkly. "I gave you those memories because I thought I was dying. They define who I am, what I've done with my life and why. Those memories are my essence, and you know them. What I saw was mere child's play; your cousin picked on you, Granger screwed up a potion, Dementors are scary. This secret of yours, the whole reason why we're stuck in this dungeon together, that's the only leverage I have over you."

"I didn't mean it that way," Harry said. "Not against you. I'm glad I know. Snape, you're one of the bravest men I know. I'm not _holding it over you_, for Merlin's sake. I'm admiring you for everything you did. I'm sorry you're ashamed to share the best of yourself with me."

There was a lengthy pause. "You're defeating the point of the relaxation potion. You have to give yourself to it, you cannot just expect it to take over when you speak of such things. I have known we must have this conversation from the moment I woke up after the attack, but let us not waste this time."

"Okay," Harry said. He had thought it would help to talk about it if they were relaxed, but he saw Snape's point. Even more, he saw that Snape was anything but relaxed, while that hadn't been his intention, though if he was thinking clearly it would have been obvious. "Knight to F3. Should I not talk at all, would that ruin your relaxation?" He moved onto his back, giving him the freedom of not being watched as Harry talked.

Snape made his move, then considered. "You may speak."

"How's your year going?" Harry asked. "Honestly, I'm not teasing you. I know an announcement was made about killing Dumbledore and spying and being on our side and stuff, but I was the only one who saw it in the Pensieve. There must be loads of students who don't believe it."

"Fine," Snape said sharply. "Make your move, Potter."

Harry glanced at the chessboard and moved a pawn forward. "Obviously not a relaxing question," he said, looking back up at the ceiling. It wasn't a very nice ceiling, but it let his mind wander pleasantly. "I don't imagine much of your life was relaxing. What would you like to talk about?"

"Perhaps I was hasty in granting you such an allowance," Snape replied before addressing the chessboard. "I cannot think of a single topic on which you would be an or appropriate conversationalist."

"You're not very relaxed at all," Harry accused. "It's Christmas. You've drugged your brain into submission, at least supposedly. Relax."

"Focus on the game."

Harry sighed and advanced another pawn, his mind fully turned from chess strategy to Snape strategy. "Really, we practically live together. You might as well open up to me just a little."

"There is nothing relaxing about living with you in the Chamber of Secrets," Snape replied.

Harry sat up. "I can fix that." He summoned over a rock and transfigured it into a Christmas tree, complete with twinkling lights, red, green and gold ornaments and a shimmering silver star on top. He magicked a pair of reindeer antlers onto his head and a Santa's hat on Snape's, which he immediately took off. "Christmas cheer," Harry said, magic dueling with Snape's firm grip on the wriggling hat. "You brought me a Christmas gift. Wear the hat."

"As penance?" Snape asked snidely. "I do something nice, and I must be punished for it?"

"I have antlers," Harry pointed out. "You wouldn't look worse than me. Besides, we're very, very alone down here. Nobody's going to see."

"No," Snape said firmly. "It's your move."

Harry took his Bishop. "Put the hat on."

"_No_," he repeated angrily. "Would you just pay attention to the game?"

"I think you put something extra in my potion," Harry decided. "I'm all relaxed and silly and happy, and you've still got that stick up your ass that's always there. Either you didn't take yours or mine was spiked."

"Or perhaps I chose not to make an idiot out of myself given the slightest provocation," Snape replied. "Potter, _focus_. It's your move again."

Harry sighed. "Fine. I give up." He put his wand down, the Santa hat stopped struggling, and he turned all his attentions on the game. It seemed, while barely paying attention, he managed to play fairly well.

They finished the game in silence, and while Harry still lost, it was by much less.

"I'm done," Harry said. "Why don't you spend the night in your proper quarters? You said the potion doesn't need any more work, and if I change there's nothing to test on me. There's no reason for you to spend Christmas stuck in the Chamber of Secrets with me."

"I believe we've had this conversation before," Snape said, and Harry saw he was resetting the chessboard. "All my things are down here. I do not wish to deal with returning them to my quarters for a single night."

"I'll just go to bed, then," Harry said, getting up. "Enjoy your relaxation."

"Potter, stop sulking," Snape said. "You lost twice. If you give up that easily on everything, you'll hardly get anywhere in life."

"I don't care about that," Harry said. "You deserve to relax, and I'm clearly not helping. Try to have a Merry Christmas, would you?"

Snape let out a deep sigh. "Come back. The problem was not playing chess. You just talk too much."

Harry turned back around and leaned against the side of the couch. "Are you sure?"

"I would not be adverse to another game."

Harry decided that was as good as he was going to get and sat back down. "Alright then. Let's go."

**13**

Harry wasn't aware he had fallen asleep until he woke up. His glasses were on, the Chamber ceiling was above him, and there was something hard and oddly shaped under his hand. He picked up whatever it was and blinked blearily. A bishop?

Oh, right. Chess.

He glanced over. Snape was sprawled out on the other couch, sleeping peacefully. Harry smiled. He'd never seen Snape look so…maybe not peaceful, but at least relaxed. Harry cast a Tempus charm—eleven forty-five in the morning. Merlin, how late had they stayed up playing chess? Harry knew he had finally won a game, and that it had taken a while, and they hadn't stopped at that.

Harry threw the chess piece at Snape, who flinched but remained asleep.

"Oi!" Harry said loudly. "Lunch!"

Snape groaned. "What?"

"Lunch is in fifteen minutes," Harry said. "I'm gonna get dressed and go; do you want to come with, or should I bring you something?"

Snape squinted at him. "And if you were asked whom the second lunch was for, what then? I hardly think so."

Harry shrugged. "Whatever. Skip a meal if you want. I'm heading up."

"I'm coming," he grumbled, standing up. The bishop clattered to the floor. "Why—"

"No reason," Harry said quickly. "Give me a minute, I've got to change."

They were both tired and groggy—a side effect of the relaxation potion, Snape said, which he had failed to mention last night—and so they didn't think to separate before entering the Great Hall. In fact, they even sat together, causing the entire table to fall into a surprised silence.

"Good to see you're getting along with the students, Severus," Professor McGonagall said eventually.

Snape looked at her, then at Harry, and jerked in his seat. "Christmas spirit," he muttered.

"Barely," Harry mumbled, still quite asleep. "Wouldn't even put on a Santa hat." Snape kicked him under the table and Harry glared at him.

"I'm sure that would have been quite amusing," Professor McGonagall replied. "However, one cannot expect such things from just anyone."

"I saw you yesterday," Snape said. "At all three meals, and not once were you wearing a festive hat."

"Dumbledore used to," Harry said, and while he meant it as a wistful memory, he had forgotten that he wasn't allowed to antagonize professors outside of the Chamber of Secrets.

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "He did, as you so indelicately put it. Mind your manners, Mr. Potter."

Harry busied himself with his eggs and toast. "Sorry, Professor."

"However, you do have a point." She took out her wand, pointed it at her hat, and suddenly the standard black hat became a Santa hat. "A day late, but better late than never."

Harry smiled, especially given Snape's discomfort. Harry was fully prepared to tease him endlessly as soon as they were safely alone in the Chamber. The rest of lunch was unremarkable, aside from the incredulous looks from Neville. They started the walk to Gryffindor Tower together but Neville broke off partway through, saying he needed to write his gran. Harry thought he sounded suspicious but left it alone, and in any case, Neville rejoined him in the common room a few minutes later.

It was a relaxing afternoon, doing nothing in particular. They both had homework out but didn't do much other than occasionally open or close a book. In retrospect Harry should have found that worrisome, since Neville didn't ask once about why he showed up with Snape, or why they sat together, and that would have been suspicious, had Harry noticed. But, beyond that, Neville was so relaxed and nonchalant, it never occurred to Harry that something might be wrong.

Just before dinner the owl came.

**14**

There was a furious tapping on the window of the common room, and Harry was happy to see it was Pig.

"Hey, look," he said, getting up and letting the bird in. "Ron's sent us something."

"Right," Neville said quietly.

Harry tightened his hold on the owl and gave Neville a distrustful look. "You don't seem surprised."

"Oh, well, you know Ron," he said, rambling a bit. "He's probably sending a joke letter or something to make up for the reasonable Christmas gifts."

"You know what this is," Harry said, sitting next to Neville, still holding Pig. "And it's not good."

"No," Neville said slowly. "No, I don't know, not exactly."

Harry untied the letter and let Pig go. "Is this going to physically harm me when I open it?"

Neville tugged on his sleeve. "Probably not."

"Probably," Harry echoed. "If something happens to me, I'm hexing you."

"Yeah," Neville sighed. "And, er, Harry, when you open it, remember that Ron made that same threat, okay?"

"But you're sitting next to me and he's at the Burrow, so that whole don't shoot the messenger thing goes right out the window," Harry replied. He poked the letter with his wand, but nothing happened.

Neville sighed again. "I know."

Harry opened the letter. There were a lot of angry splotches and scribbles, but he could make out the message, barely.

_SNAPE._

_You're _[the first and worst outburst of scribbles was here, and then Hermione's writing instead of Ron's] _spending all your nights with Snape? I know his memories changed everything, but_

[back to Ron here] _I'd thought the worst possible case was Malfoy, but __Snape_?_ Harry, what the _[scribbles again]

[Hermione] _We're giving you the benefit of the doubt for now, but please do owl us back. We're concerned._

[Ron]_ And possibly hate you._

[Hermione again] _Happy holidays, Harry. And try not to do anything too stupid._

"They—they think I'm—" Harry broke off into hysterical laughter. "Merlin's beard, they think I'm sleeping with _Snape_?"

"Well, you have been acting strangely all term," Neville said. "You haven't slept in our dorms since the first few weeks. You haven't exactly been stopping the rumors that you're seeing someone, or even that it's a professor. And then, walking in with Snape, after missing breakfast, and sitting with him, you can see how it could look…" He trailed off as Harry continued to laugh.

"No," he said eventually. "No, I'm not—" Another bout of giggles "—_sleeping with_ Snape." He looked around, to make sure they were alone, and quietly asked, "Can you keep a secret?"

"Yeah, of course," Neville said earnestly.

"Well, Snape prohibited me from saying anything, but he's been working on a potion to disarm a Basilisk's eyes," Harry said quietly. "We need to find the Basilisk first, and figure out a way to get it to drink the potion, but if we did, that would be brilliant."

"Yeah, definitely," Neville said excitedly. "What do you have to do with this?"

"He needs a potions grunt," Harry replied. "To do the chopping and the grating and the stirring and whatever he doesn't feel like."

"So why is this such a secret?"

"He doesn't want to raise hope," Harry said. "At least that's what he says. It's probably because he doesn't want to be humiliated if it doesn't work."

Neville laughed a little. "Yeah. That's really noble of you, Harry, spending all your nights with Snape to help people. It makes my work with the mandrakes look like nothing."

Harry's stomach dropped. "No, Neville, you're so much better. You're going to rescue the petrified."

"But you could invent a permanent solution!" Neville replied.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "For all the Basilisks roaming around the English countryside? But it doesn't matter, we're both helping. Now let me send Ron and Hermione a letter. I can't believe—" He broke off into laughter again as he penned a reply, repeating what he had told Neville. He was extraordinarily proud of his excuse, especially on such short notice. It was possible it could cause problems later on but, at least for now, it was perfect.

Harry made sure to sit as far away from Snape as possible during dinner and then, since he didn't need to hide the fact that he was sneaking away, he hurried to Myrtle's bathroom where he paced anxiously, waiting for Snape. As soon as the professor walked in Harry burst into his explanation, feeling more and more like he had made a terrible mistake the more he talked.

"Not ideal," Snape replied, then opened the passageway. "Questions could be raised, but as long as your friends remain silent, things could be worse." He grimaced, remembering Ron's letter. "Much, much worse."

The benches were still couches and the potions table was still off to the side. Harry collapsed onto his couch, good cheer gone. Snape had insisted they had made progress, but Harry still didn't see it. He heaved a great sigh and lay down, burying his face in his pillow.

"Self-pity doesn't suit you, Potter," Snape said.

Harry could hear the sounds of Snape readying to brew, but he wasn't in any mood to help, or even to turn his couch back into a bench. "I don't care, I deserve it. Next time you accidentally petrify half the school, talk to me."

"I would like to remind you I killed Albus Dumbledore," Snape replied coolly.

"Barely," Harry muttered. Then he realized how that sounded, and started babbling. "I mean, I know what a sacrifice you made, I didn't mean to say it was blasé or anything, I mean, sound blasé, I just meant—"

"Shut up," Snape interrupted. "And get up. I need you to—"

"I don't care," Harry said mournfully. "I'll spend the rest of my life in solitude in a reserve somewhere unplottable. I have no idea when I'm going to change and I can't control the poison or my eyes; there's no way I can ever live in proper society. Maybe I'll just stay here for the rest of my life in the Forbidden Forest, one more myth to scare students."

"Shut up!" Snape repeated, his voice getting louder. "I'm serious, Potter, I'm not doing this by myself."

"Yes you will," Harry said. "You're having the time of your life with this. Inventing a new potion to help curb the deadliness of a new species. You couldn't ask for more."

"I could ask for anyone other than you," Snape hissed. "Get up or I'll dock fifty points from Gryffindor."

"Not without an excuse," Harry muttered.

"Insubordination at Boxing Day lunch," Snape said smoothly. "I'm transfiguring your couch back to a bench. Fair warning."

Suddenly the couch was hard, and the pillow Harry was shoving his face into was wood, and his nose was uncomfortably squished into the bench. Heaving a huge sigh he sat up and looked at the unrecognizable slop in front of him. "What is this?"

"Do you care?" Snape asked icily. "Chop it into seven and a quarter pieces, and make sure the quarter is exact."

"Chop?" Harry asked. "It's sludge. Can't I spoon it?"

"No."

Harry sighed again and got to work.

**15**

The problem with the new excuse was that now Hermione was constantly badgering him to come down and help with the potion. Harry tried to tell her that it was hard enough getting along with Snape himself. Bringing another student Snape hated would only make it worse. He added that all he was doing was prep work, which he didn't need help with. Finally he reminded her that Snape had sworn him to silence, and how much trouble Harry would be in if he found out his friends knew.

The only successful way to get her to stop was to invite her to do research. It wasn't going to come to anything, Harry was certain of that, but at least it kept her from complaining.

Realistically, Harry could have really used the help. The closer it got to the N.E.W.T.s the harder classes got and the more homework he had. He was studying in every spare minute of his spare time, including during meals (which made Snape dock ten points from Gryffindor for turning in a paper that smelled of mashed potatoes. This led to a huge blowout in the Chamber that night, which nearly led to Harry petrifying Snape when he suddenly changed in the middle of the fight). Harry studied the entire time between dinner and going down to the Chamber, even while he was in snake form. He curled himself in a corner as far away from Snape as he could manage and, facing the walls, read and reread his texts.

Snape had the third version of the potion ready by the second week of February. Harry didn't morph again until Valentine's Day, which he found absolutely horrible for no particular reason, since he didn't have a girlfriend or a girl he wanted to date. He was much too busy for that. Still, as he swallowed the potion, he couldn't help but feel cheated. He _could _have had a girl, if this hadn't happened.

The potion didn't work.

For the first time, it didn't work in a catastrophic way.

Harry's anger over his condition suddenly amplified tenfold. Despite Snape's best attempts at holding him back, he left the Chamber, slamming through the pipes, ricocheting off the walls, causing a panic in the main castle.

There was a weak point in the pipes by the kitchens. He rammed into the pipe, the pipe shattered, the old bricks crumbled, and he was loose in the castle. He had vague thoughts of staying away from the more inhabited hallways but he just couldn't bring himself to care. He didn't want to hurt anyone, but he was sick to death of being coiled up in a corner, and stretching himself out in the hallways felt too good. As a result of Snape's utter failure, Harry ended up in the Great Hall, racing along the walls.

The two Hufflepuff prefects saw his reflection in the starry ceiling.

Harry immediately slithered back into to the hole in the pipes and down to the Chamber of Secrets, which he entered with closed eyes. He felt his way along the wall and coiled himself, all the while listening to Snape's furious and entirely justified yelling. Harry picked out the sound of footsteps far before Snape could hear them and slammed his tail on the floor three times. Snape cursed and cast a Disillusionment charm over the entire chamber, modified from the regular charm so the magic was undetectable. Harry was covered by this as well, appearing as an unstable pile of rocks. Snape covered himself in Harry's cloak and found his own corner to hide in.

Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Slughorn spent hours combing the room. Harry hadn't realized just how good Snape was at spells until they finally left without coming close to either him or Snape. It made sense, given what he had to go through as a spy, and his prowess as a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, but Harry still thought of him as a potions master and nothing more.

Harry refused to leave the Chamber for an entire three days. Snape brought him food on the second and third days, after his failed attempt to lure him out with hunger failed. Still, as cruel as he could be, he didn't _actually_ want Harry to starve to death, and he felt as guilty as Harry did about the attack. Ron, Hermione and Neville all assumed he was working overtime on the potion, and the three told the rest of the school he was suffering from what muggles called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and needed to stay in bed until he felt better. That wasn't exactly untrue; he just stayed in the Chamber instead of his room.

And he was the one who caused the attacks.

Harry ate what Snape brought him, although reluctantly. He followed Snape's instructions regarding the newest potion without a word, too depressed to argue or attempt to convince Snape it was pointless. If he hadn't been so depressed he might have found Snape's attempts to get him to leave the Chamber kind, but he ignored those as well, including threats to expose him, only relenting when Snape declared he would dock fifty points from Gryffindor for every day he stayed "in bed". Harry felt guilty enough as it was, and he couldn't bear to bring more harm to anyone. He resumed his normal schedule on Thursday, sneaking into bed in the wee hours, going to breakfast, lunch and dinner, attending all his classes and getting make-up work from his professors. He studied diligently until eight, and then snuck back down to the Chamber. He hated it, but it felt more and more like home with each day. He supposed he was getting Stockholm's Syndrome for a room. How pathetic.

"Why were you so insistent that I leave?" Harry asked. Snape had let him off preparation duty until he caught up with his work, so Harry had lengthened the table and was doing potions homework. It usually made him extremely irritable to work on potions while Snape was in the room, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"It would have been suspicious," Snape said. "That PSTD nonsense Granger was going on and on about would have been seen through immediately had the school not been so upset."

"PTSD," Harry corrected. "What's the percentage of bezoar stone to newt tails when used against Tentacula venom?"

"Three newt tails for every gram of bezoar," Snape said automatically, and Harry managed a small smile before getting yelled at for cheating. They continued to work in silence until Harry's eyes refused to focus and he was falling asleep at the table. More to the point, until he _actually _fell asleep at the table, causing Snape to rap him on the head with a freshly cleaned stirrer and demand that he go to bed.

"Haven't finished my work," Harry muttered, sitting back up and returning to his essay.

"Is that for tomorrow?"

Harry glared at him. "Yeah, Defense Against the Dark Arts, first period."

Snape sighed dramatically. "I'll grant you an extension until eight on Saturday. Go to bed."

"I should help you, then," Harry said. "If I'm not doing homework, I should be working with you."

"You're of no use to me when you're falling asleep," Snape said. "What if you keeled forward and knocked over the cauldron?"

Harry sighed. "Fine. G'night then."

Of course, as soon as he crawled into bed he was wide awake. He kept seeing the Hufflepuffs' faces, how they were frozen in terror. _Frozen temporarily_, he reminded himself, but that didn't help at all. What if Neville couldn't get the mandrakes to mature quickly enough? He knew that was ridiculous too, and his friend had no control over how quickly plants grew, and if he had to stay into the summer he would. Then Snape would brew the restorative and it would be fine.

Unless for some reason it didn't work this time.

During his three-day self-imposed exile in the Chamber Harry had decided if the potion didn't work he'd leave Hogwarts, no matter the time of year, or how close he was to graduating. It would almost certainly be inferred that he was behind the attacks, but he didn't care. He had been doing research, and discovered a huge dragon reserve in northern Scotland. He'd spend the rest of his days there, however many they were; he had no idea if his lifespan was increased to that of a Basilisk, and could only hope he retained his normal, wizard lifespan so he could die as soon as possible.

Suddenly his thoughts were racing, first memories flashing before his eyes before coming to the present and what he was thinking at this very moment, bright and shiny. Harry let out an infuriated shriek and slammed his mind closed.

"What the fuck!" he yelled. "Legilimency? You've got to be fucking kidding me!"

"Stop swearing at me, Potter," Snape said calmly. "I could hear the edges of your thoughts without magic at all. You were thinking about dying, and I wanted to make sure you weren't planning on killing yourself."

"What business of it is yours if I was?" Harry asked irritably. "I'm not, I was just wondering how long my lifespan is, but even so it's none of your business what I do with myself."

"Yes it is," Snape replied. "I vowed to keep you safe, and I will not disrespect Dumbledore or your mother by standing idly by while you do something rash."

"Well you can knock it off," Harry snapped. "I'm fine." He heard footsteps, then his curtain shifted aside, and then Snape was standing before him. "Get out of my room."

Wincing, Snape asked, "Do you need to talk?"

Harry sighed. "No. Get out."

"You have to stop blaming yourself," Snape said. "There were no attacks, only accidents. Especially those Hufflepuffs; my potion backfired, and you were incapable of controlling yourself."

"And Hagrid?" Harry asked angrily. "When I somehow managed to forget I'm a bloody monster and nearly killed one of my closest friends? Tell me how that was anything other than my fault."

"Your intensions were pure," Snape replied. "You meant no harm to anyone."

Harry rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. He was dangerously close to crying, and he was not going to do that in front of Snape, absolutely not. "Get out," he said again. "I'm trying to sleep." Harry felt a small thump, and he picked up the flask that had been thrown onto his bed. "What is this?"

"Calming draught," Snape said. "I brewed it a while ago, in case your self-pitying egotism showed itself again."

Harry threw the flask at him, which he caught deftly. "I don't want it."

Snape threw it back. "I don't care. Take it."

Harry chucked it as hard as he could, but Snape still managed to catch it. "No. I don't deserve it."

"I've only got two and a half minutes before I need to stir," Snape said, throwing it back. "Stop being so difficult and let me help you!"

"No!" Harry repeated. Then, hating himself for it, he broke down. It was the Hufflepuffs, the unsuspecting fifth years who had no business doing checks at all, and just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. What if they hadn't thought to look at the ceiling first? What if they had just barged in? What if he happened to be looking at the doorway instead of the far wall?

Snape sighed. "Drink the potion."

"No," Harry croaked between his tears. "Leave me alone."

Much to his great, incredible, unbelievable surprise, Snape sat at the edge of his bed. He took the flask from Harry's hands, opened it, and shoved it back at Harry. "Please, for both our sakes, drink it," he said, sounding pained. "Unless you want to spend the rest of the night blubbering in front of me."

"You don't understand," Harry said, still crying.

Snape glared at him. "I've done far worse than you, and intentionally. What do I have to say to convince you these were accidents?"

"I know they were," Harry said. "That doesn't change anything. What if next accident I turn someone to stone? What then?"

"That's why we're working on a cure," Snape said. "Or I would be, if you weren't keeping me here babysitting you."

"I'm not keeping you here!" Harry yelled. "I've told you to get out and leave me alone!"

"I will when you drink the draught," Snape replied calmly.

"Merlin's beard, if that's what it takes to get you to go away, fine." Harry drained the entire flask before Snape could stop him.

"Potter, you blithering idiot!" Snape yelled. "The whole thing? You had to go and drink the whole thing. Have you any memory at all? Madame Pomfrey gave you a small cup, not an entire flask!"

"Well you should've said somethin'," Harry said, words slurring together. He slid bonelessly into bed, flask clattering to the ground. "Y'seemed insist'nt."

Snape groaned. "Sleep it off. I'm sure your professors, myself included, will be absolutely _thrilled_ when they find out you're missing yet _another_ day of classes."

"Excuse me," Harry breathed, closing his eyes, unable to hold them open any further. "'T's your fault. Write up an 'cuse."

"I suppose the truth would be fitting," Snape sighed. "I tried to give you a calming draught and you overdosed."

"M'kay," Harry said. "See y'n th' m'n'ng."

"Tomorrow night, if you're lucky," Snape said. He picked up the flask and stood to leave. "Potter, really, this isn't your fault. You got the wound while saving the world, yet again, and you have done everything in your power to keep yourself from harming anyone."

"Mm."

Then, Harry sure he was hallucinating, or already asleep, Snape said quietly, gently, "Sleep well." And then he was actually asleep, no doubt about it.

**16**

Harry drifted in and out of consciousness. When he was aware of what was going on he felt rather giggly about it, and even his dreams were calm, filled with beaches and Crup puppies and the Burrow. At one point a plate of food appeared next to him, and Harry ate his sandwich very calmly, even though the mustard was too spicy for his taste. He was calm. And happy. But mostly calm.

Later on Snape came to check on him.

"I'm fine," Harry said calmly. "I'm caaaaaaalm."

Snape sighed. "I'll be back at eight."

"Okay," Harry replied calmly. "'M gonna go back to sleep now."

"Yes, yes you are," Snape said. "If you're awake enough to eat it, dinner is next to your bed."

Harry lolled his head to the side. There was a plate next to him, filled with delicious-smelling food. He reached for the fork, and then he very calmly fell asleep again.

Snape was back a few minutes later.

"Can you sit up yet?"

"I thought you weren't coming until eight," Harry sighed, eyes closed.

"It is eight," Snape said. "Potter, open your eyes."

Harry calmly struggled, then finally succeeded, and looked calmly at his professor. "Hi, Snape."

"Yes, hello, fine," Snape replied. "Sit up."

Harry forced his calm muscles to function, and eventually managed a seated position. A _calm_ seated position. "Okay," he said calmly.

Snape knelt down so they were at the same level. "Follow my fingers with your eyes."

Calmly, Harry did.

"Grab my fingers and squeeze."

Calmly, Harry did.

"Alright, you'll be fine," Snape said, standing back up. "You can go back to sleep."

"Pepper Up?" Harry asked calmly.

"A very good sign that you can think of a potential solution," Snape replied. "However, mixing Pepper Up with a calming draught is extremely dangerous, causing anything from hysterics to a week long sleep, and occasionally heart attacks."

"Oh," Harry said calmly, lying back down and closing his eyes. "Okay, never mind."

"Just sleep."

"Okay," Harry sighed calmly. "Okay."

Harry wondered why being calm would cause hallucinations. Maybe because his hallucination was calm. Possibly because he was asleep already, and his dreams were so calm. But it certainly felt real when Snape brushed Harry's hair off his forehead. Regardless of how real it was, it was calm.

The next time Harry woke up he felt awake. He ate the food Snape had brought him with no trouble, and, even though he stumbled a few times, made it onto the potions bench.

"I see you have rejoined the land of the living," Snape said, not looking up from whatever he was chopping.

"Still calm," Harry said. "But I can move. And talk. And I'm even mostly certain this is real and not a hallucination or a dream."

Snape looked up. "You were hallucinating?"

"Maybe," Harry replied. "Probably just dreaming."

"Potter, this is important. If you were hallucinating I need to take you to the hospital wing right away," Snape said, and he was serious enough that he set his knife down entirely. "What did you see?"

Harry frowned. "You. You told me to sleep well. And then later you touched my hair."

Snape returned to his chopping. "Never mind, you're fine."

Harry was lucid enough that he thought it good that he was still calm, because otherwise he might have freaked out. Instead he went back to the potions essay that was still sitting where he left it. He had a hard time focusing at first, but working helped, and by the time he finished, he was feeling much more like himself.

"Here's my essay," he said, handing it to Snape. "I'm not sure what time it is, but it's done."

"Not to worry, I already took ten points from Gryffindor for turning it in late," Snape said, levitating the scroll into his room. "Five points for not turning it in during class, and five points for each hour after eight."

Harry glared at him. "You were the one who drugged me."

"And you were the one who failed to think, once again," Snape replied. "It should have been obvious not to drink the entire flask, and if you were that dimwitted, it at least should have occurred to you to ask the correct dosage."

Harry sighed. Arguing was pointless. "Fine, whatever. Am I working with you or can I catch up on homework?"

"Go ahead," Snape said. "You certainly need all the time you can get."

"Thanks," Harry said dully. "How very kind of you."

**17**

Harry changed that night, but it hardly mattered. He was still depressed, still feeling the effects of the calming draught, and he didn't even bother to curl up, just lay against the far wall and stared at the stone. It was gone, everything was gone. The thrill of being a Basilisk. His friendships were fading due to his hours spent in the Chamber. His hope that things would get better.

"Potter, stop sulking," Snape said.

"No," Harry hissed.

"An overdose of calming draught can cause extreme depression as it wears off," Snape said. His Parseltongue had drastically improved over the months, and while he couldn't say much more than open, he generally understood at least the gist of what Harry said.

"It has nothing to do with the after effects and you know it," Harry said.

"Perhaps not exclusively," Snape admitted. "But certainly amplified. I can hardly believe I'm suggesting such a thing, but why don't you go for a jaunt in the Forbidden Forest? It should be safe enough."

"No," Harry repeated. "Even if the forest itself is safe, how do you propose I get there? All the pipe exits are monitored."

"Didn't catch that," Snape said. "What about the forest exits?"

Harry sighed. "Pipes," he hissed slowly. "Pipe exits. Unsafe grounds."

"Ah," Snape said. "I left one open for you. It comes out in the Black Lake. You would have to hold your breath and swim very quickly, but there is little chance of running into student or staff deep in the lake."

"Merpeople," Harry said, which was entirely lost on Snape. "Water people," he tried.

"Merfolk?" Snape asked, and Harry thumped his tail once. "You really believe they would consent to having a pipe anywhere near their territory?"

Harry considered. "It's too dangerous," he said eventually. "What about centaurs?"

"What about whats?"

Harry whipped his tail angrily. "Horse people."

"What people?"

He let out a series of curses. "Four legged forest people."

"Centaurs are wise enough to stay far away from you," Snape replied calmly. "They have much experience with the dark creatures of the forest. You are not a threat to them."

"I'd disturb the spiders."

Snape snorted. "I am sure leaving them alone is a very high priority."

"It is!" Harry yelled. "I know what it's like to be kicked out of my home, I'm not doing that to anyone, even spiders."

"Then steer clear of their habitat," Snape said. "You know well enough where it is. For all practical purposes the forest is endless. Avoid the spiders, stay away from the Merpeople, and revel in yourself. Eat your natural diet, feel the snow beneath your scales, and get out of this ridiculous mood so you can be of use to me."

"It's always about you," Harry sneered. "You couldn't care less about my happiness. You just want me for research. I'd be better off in Azkaban, at least there wouldn't be any pretenses."

"Oh yes, poor little Harry, spending all his time with his least favorite professor," Snape taunted. "Blaming me for everything that's wrong in your life. If it was truly all about me I would have turned you over the moment you came to me. I could have continued my work on this potion, delivering it to Azkaban myself. I'd have the glory of catching a Basilisk, of discovering a new species, and of spending all my time working to help the wizarding world. Instead I reside down here, with you."

"You're only protecting me because of some stupid vow you made to Dumbledore," Harry snapped. "You couldn't care less about me."

"You know I can't understand you when you speak so quickly," Snape replied.

Harry thumped his tail angrily. "You don't care about me!" he yelled, pointing his tail at Snape, and then at himself.

There was a pause, and Harry could hear Snape had stopped powdering whatever it was he was working with. "Are you requesting my friendship, Potter?"

"No," Harry said immediately. "Of course not." He slammed his tail against the wall in frustration

"You are lonely, that is quite clear," Snape said. "And I suppose you spend more time with me than anyone else."

"Arguing," Harry said. "Yelling. Being ordered about. Doing your bloody impossible homework."

"We play chess," Snape said calmly.

"We _played_ chess," Harry corrected. "While drugged."

"Perhaps that should be amended," Snape replied as if it was nothing. "Would your pieces respond to Parseltongue? An interesting experiment. You can hardly turn them to stone when they already are. And since we can converse, it would be easy enough to trade off closing eyes."

Harry was completely thrown by this. "You need to be working."

"A single game could hardly hurt."

"No," Harry said stubbornly. "I don't want to."

Snape sighed irritably. "Fine. Be miserable. I'll leave you to it."

"Fine," Harry snapped back. A few minutes passed. Then, despite his better judgment, he asked, "Are you only doing this out of an obligation to Dumbledore? Or my mum or whoever?"

"You are quite cryptic this evening," Snape replied. "Rephrase your question, Potter."

Harry slammed his tail down angrily. "Do you care about me, or just the potion?"

"You're an insufferable, egotistical, dull Gryffindor idiot," Snape replied. "However, due to prolonged exposure, I have grown used to you."

"Bloody brilliant," Harry said. "You vaguely kind of sort of tolerate me. I still hate you."

"Then stop seeking my approval," Snape said. Apparently he finished his powdering, and tipped the ingredient into the cauldron, which sizzled and released the scent of freshly mown grass.

"Grass?" Harry asked.

"I don't understand you."

"Green stuff on the ground," Harry sighed.

"Yes, it smells like grass," Snape said. "Do you have a point?"

"It's pleasant. Covers the smell of my rotting counterpart."

"Rotting what?"

"Fucking Basilisk!" Harry yelled, pointing his tail at the still decomposing corpse. "The thing that's made my life a living hell that I'm forced to stare at and smell and spend all my waking hours and most of my sleep thinking about! Clear enough for you?"

"Crystal," Snape said calmly. "You should have said something if the smell was bothering you. Any number of potions produce a pleasant scent. What would you prefer the Chamber to smell of?"

"Anything else," Harry grumbled. "Grass. Flowers. The first snowfall." He was starting to get lost in his list. "A spring rain. A crackling fire. Roasted marshmallows." He shook himself. "Fucking anything other than that."

"I didn't catch most of that, but I will see what I can do." Another pause, this time broken by Snape. "I hope you recognize the extra time spent brewing something entirely for your benefit. I have grown accustomed to such smells, both from the Basilisk itself and from working with potions for so long. This is wholly to please you."

"Thanks," Harry muttered. "As long as you're in a giving mood, feel like passing my potions N.E.W.T.s right now?"

"I assume you are speaking of your N.E.W.T.s and no, I will not excuse you," Snape said. "I will bring you your potions book if you want to study."

"No," Harry said petulantly. "It doesn't matter if I pass. I've got my post-Hogwarts plans all sorted."

"Oh?"

"The Hebridean reserve," he answered. "Should be big enough."

"I have no idea what you just said," Snape replied. "Would you crush these chestnuts?"

"Yeah," Harry said absentmindedly. There were very few ways he could help brew as a Basilisk, but crushing things was most assuredly one of them. Snape placed the nuts on a plate and guided Harry's tail over to it. He quickly flattened them. The momentary contact of Snape's hand on his tail was bittersweet; he had grown accustomed to a lack of physical contact, and even just the fleeting guidance was a comfort. "The dragon reservation in the north."

"You needn't yourself," Snape said for the hundredth time, returning to the brewing table. "You need only be careful."

"Where?" Harry asked bitterly. "Grimmauld Place will hardly accommodate a fifty foot snake."

"Was that Grimmauld Place?" Harry slammed his tail once. "It could if you cleaned out the basement."

"Sure, I'll just toss ancient dark artifacts out onto the street," Harry said sarcastically. "I've got no idea what they do, but surely they're completely safe."

"Put an extendable charm on the attic and move them up there," Snape said reasonably.

Bloody hell, Harry was sick of this conversation. Reasonable Snape was infinitely more annoying than irrational, yelling Snape. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Of course not, you never wish to discuss any means by which your life could improve," Snape replied. "If only you hadn't made me learn Parseltongue I would at least have a few nights reprise from your constant sulking."

"Fuck off."

"Seven points from Gryffindor, one for each letter that fell from your forked tongue," Snape said. "I'll think of a reason in the morning. I'm going to sleep, I'm exhausted." The sounds of Snape wrapping up for the night, and then silence as he entered his charmed room.

As much as he hated admitting it, Harry already missed their conversation. Tomorrow, he vowed, he'd spend as much time as humanly possible with Ron and Hermione, using any excuse, however transparent, for physical contact. He was going crazy living in this dank chamber with no one but, as Snape had put it, his least favorite professor. Merlin, even a physical fight with Malfoy would be welcome, if he got to feel the warmth of a human being, even if it was just a knuckled fist meeting his jaw.

Harry spent a long time that night wishing snakes could cry.

He transformed back fairly early in the morning but didn't bother moving to his room. He just curled up where he was and finally had the cry he'd been waiting for all night. He knew he was being pathetic and had no right to be upset, not when there was an infirmary of petrified students, staff and ghosts upstairs. They deserved tears, they deserved sympathy. Harry was nothing.

Fuck, he sounded obnoxious, even to his own ears.

Then he had a revelation.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Not much to say today. I'm too cold. My stupid room doesn't get warm in the winter and while that's lovely for sleeping because it means I get to cuddle under a bajillion blankets, it bloody _sucks_ for getting out of bed. But, just for you, I pried myself out of my cocoon of warmth in order to publish chapter five.

You better enjoy.

**Chapter Five**

**18**

It was Saturday, and Harry couldn't be happier. He forced himself up, brushed his clothes off and left, Snape still sleeping behind his curtains. He walked up to Gryffindor Tower beneath his invisibility cloak, not having any idea of the time, or really even when curfew was at all. He forgot about the enchantment on the girls' staircase and made it a few steps up before the stairs turned into a slide and he fell, collapsing in a heap.

He sprinted up to his room, grabbed a piece of paper and sent up a note, flying a paper airplane to Hermione's room. She came down a few minutes later in pajamas, blinking blearily.

"Harry?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"I'm lonely," he said completely honestly. "Will you just lie with me for a minute?"

She gave him a sad, sympathetic look. "You're pushing yourself too hard," she said, sitting next to him on the couch, taking his hand. "You've got to get Snape to let you have some nights off. I haven't seen you do anything other than study and eat in months."

"Do you see Neville taking nights off?" Harry asked, lying down and pulling Hermione with him. "No. He practically lives in the greenhouses."

"Oh, Harry," she sighed, drawing his arm around herself. "You take on too much. The world won't end if Snape has to prepare his own ingredients."

"It's fine," Harry said, not eager to delve to deeply into such a conversation. "Really. I'm just tired. And lonely."

"It's gotten around what you're doing," Hermione said. Harry stiffened. "Not the details, don't worry, just that you're working on something that could help. Everyone is very impressed, and very fond of you. If you wanted, you could be less lonely."

Harry snorted. "I don't want a girl who only wants me because I'm her concept of a hero."

"Then you should get out more," she said. "Find a girl who wants you for you."

"No," Harry sighed. "No, I'll stay lonely. I just need a break from being alone."

"Okay," Hermione said. "I'm here, though. You're not alone. You've got me and Ron, we're always here."

Harry's stomach twisted. They wouldn't be there in the dragon reserve. But he wasn't thinking about that now. He was thinking about his friend in his arms, his friend who loved him, his friend who was warm and loved him and always there for him. As long as she didn't know, of course, but he wasn't thinking of that. He was falling asleep, that's what he was doing. He had cried himself out and crying always made him tired so now he was falling asleep.

"G'night, 'Mione."

"Sleep well. Sleep well, and sleep long."

"Yeah."

He woke up when Ron sat down at the edge of the couch, pushing his feet aside and taking Hermione's onto his lap. Harry was very happy to have his other friend close by. Then he fell asleep again.

Harry had completely lost track of time, and was absolutely delighted that there was a Quidditch match that day. He blew off his homework entirely, spending the morning laughing and joking with his fellow Gryffindors like old times, ate lunch without a single glance at the head table (well, except once, and Snape looked no different than always, no more or less pleased that Harry was having a brilliant time with his friends), and cheered Gryffindor on to a spectacular victory against the Slytherins. He caught Malfoy's eye as the Snitch was caught and gave Malfoy his own smirk. Malfoy looked disgusted and turned away.

He couldn't avoid homework forever, and they spent the afternoon studying. Ron and even Hermione relied on him for help with potions, which made Harry feel useful in a way he hadn't for ages. He was lost in pretty much every other subject, but at least he had mastered potions. Even though he spent most afternoons and the early evening studying with Ron and Hermione, it was only now he felt like he was really, truly catching up. He was so wrapped up in everything else he was genuinely surprised when Hermione told them they were covering defense charms, and reminded him he had passed the last test, the one that had happened a few days ago, with flying colors.

His mood fell after dinner, and continued to plummet with each tick of the clock. At ten of eight he gathered his things, slipped under his cloak, and returned to the Chamber. Snape was already there—he usually was, on the weekends—and Harry tossed his bag into his room and joined him at the table.

"What're we doing tonight?" Harry asked, keeping the feeling of Hermione in his arms in the front of his mind, clinging onto the last vestiges of his good mood.

"Do whatever pleases you," Snape said. "I release you of your nightly duties."

Harry stared at him. "No," he said dumbly. "No, I'm working with you."

"You need a night off," Snape replied. "Take it."

"No," Harry repeated. "I want to do this. If I get to pick what I want to do, I want to work with you."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "If you insist." He handed Harry a sprig of a plant he didn't recognize. "Prune it and finely chop the leaves. _Finely_. You aren't good at finely, and you need the practice."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, and began pruning.

Snape continued to stare at him. "Sir?" he echoed. "You haven't called me sir once down here."

"I've got a bit of a good mood left," Harry said. "Destroying Slytherin in Quidditch, spending time with my friends. I apologize, though. I didn't mean to say such a thing, you git."

"Keep your mouth shut and prune."

When Harry finished chopping the leaves, which took three separate inspections before Snape declared them fine enough, he sat back. "Today was the first time in ages I've had a good day," he said. "I slept with Hermione—sleep, actual sleep, don't you dare misunderstand that—spent time in Gryffindor Tower, went to the Quidditch match, studied."

"Spent the morning crying," Snape said as he added the leaves to the cauldron.

Harry paused. "I thought you had a silencing spell on your room."

"One way," Snape said. "It would hardly be wise for me to leave myself unprotected from you."

"Well, fine then, what if I was crying?" Harry asked. "I've got enough to cry about. What's next?"

"Stirring," Snape replied. "Then steeping."

Harry sighed quietly. "Not a lot to do tonight."

"We can have a game of chess, if you so desire."

Harry looked at him. "You want to play chess with me?"

"I do not wish to be woken up at three in the morning by hysterics," Snape said not entirely unkindly. "If you are in a good mood, it would benefit me to keep you as such."

"All right then. How much stirring do you have left?"

"Nine minutes, give or take," Snape replied.

Harry moved the benches away from the table and transfigured them into the same cushy couches as before. A rock became a table, and Harry summoned his chess set over and set up. He spent the next few minutes lying on the couch, wishing Hermione was here to cuddle with. Or Ron, though that was more awkward. Really, anyone, any warm body would be good. Snape kept warming spells on the Chamber at all times, but it was never truly warm.

Snape came over several minutes later and they set to it. The game seemed to last forever; Harry still played himself in his spare time, and was nearly good enough to beat Snape on a regular basis, rather than by chance. Snape was resetting when Harry spoke.

"Do you get lonely?"

Snape paused for a second. "That's none of your business, Potter."

"It's so lonely down here," Harry said. "That's why I left so early today, why I spent the day with my Gryffindors. There were times when I thought I was lonely, but this is different. I miss my dorm."

"There are many potions yet to make," Snape replied. "First to control your eyes, then to control when you change. I have spent many hours going over the log of your transformations and I have yet to find a pattern. I have not given up, either."

"Maybe one day you'll find a cure," Harry said. "But not while I'm still here, not when you can test it. I'll be in the Hebrideans hiding out and you'll be teaching at Hogwarts, just like always. You're lonely here, but you're still surrounded by people. I'll be dodging dragons. I'll probably be safe enough as a Basilisk, but being human… I hadn't really thought of that, actually. I can still eat wildlife, that's not a problem, and I'm used to the cold. My skin is extra tough even as a human, did I tell you?" Snape nodded. "Yeah. I guess I'll just be bored and lonely."

"Stay at Hogwarts," Snape said, sounding just as surprised at his words as Harry. "Stay in the forest. I can help you."

Harry sighed. "We'll see, I guess." He laughed a little. "I should stop studying. What's the point of N.E.W.T.s if I'm going to spend my years in a forest? I can hardly be an Auror when I'm as dark as they come."

"You're not dark," Snape said, sounding annoyed. "Really, Potter, must we go through this again?"

"I'm not upset," Harry said. "I'm not complaining. I'm just saying. I might as well think realistically. I'll finish my year, and take my N.E.W.T.s, and I'll visit Ron and Hermione, as much as I can, but it's not going to be a real life, not like yours. You did so much good, and I'm just… just a snake."

"Are you telling me that you have done no good in this world?" Snape asked.

"No," Harry said. "I've done good. But you get to spend the rest of your life teaching. Your good goes on, while mine shrivels away."

"I'm sick of this moping," Snape said, suddenly much more harsh than before. "If you don't make the first move, I'll take it."

Harry didn't bother looking at the board, just sent a pawn forward. "I'm not moping, I told you." He paused as Snape made his move. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Snape stared at him. "I believe you've told me quite a few secrets, Potter. If you feel the need to share further, I will not stop you."

"I won't miss being good the most," he said. "I should, I know that, and I will, because I could have done so much more with my life. But the biggest thing I'll miss is human contact. That's why I cuddled with Hermione, to get as much in as I can."

"You'll still be able to, don't be ridiculous," Snape replied irritably. "The same way as you do now. During the day, when it's safe."

Harry shook his head. "I've got Hermione and Ron, and they're dating, and then they'll get engaged, and married, and have kids. I'll hardly be able to spend the night with her then. Even now it's only okay because of what we went through last year. She's got someone. I have no business cuddling with her." He looked at the chessboard and directed his pieces. "I can't find someone either. Dating isn't exactly an option when I've got to disappear at eight every night."

"I'm hardly the person to talk to about this," Snape said uncomfortably. "You saw my memories. I'll find a cure for you, or at least something to hold it off, or give you control or perhaps a schedule. After which you'll be able to have anyone you want."

"When I'm several hundred years old?" Harry asked. "That'll be appealing."

"Potter, really," Snape said. "Save this conversation for someone more optimistic than I."

"You should make an optimism potion," Harry said.

"There are several, and they do not interest me." Snape sighed impatiently. "Can't we just play chess? When I suggested a game I did not realize 'playing chess' equated to 'speak intimately of one's life'."

"Sorry," Harry said. "Sometimes I forget you're a heartless bastard." He moved his bishop out of the way of Snape's rook. "Just yesterday we were contemplating friendship, and now you're telling me to shut up."

"I said I had grown used to you," Snape corrected.

Harry sighed, and that was the last of his good mood out the window. "Yeah, never mind." They returned to the game, and Harry actually won. He stood up and stretched. "I'm going to try to get my good mood back. I'm not sure if telling you will get me in trouble, but I've got a bottle of Firewhiskey and I intend to drink until I'm happy again."

Harry was rummaging through his things, trying to figure out where he'd put it, when Snape opened his curtain.

"If I suggested sharing your bottle, would that be yet another previously unknown means of 'speak intimately of one's life'?"

Harry jerked up and stared at Snape. "Um. No. I suppose not. You have to promise not to be a jerk, though. This is for good mood purposes only."

"Fine."

He finally found the bottle behind a pile of first year textbooks he had no idea why he'd brought, and went back to the couches. He popped the cork and took the inaugural swig. Snape cleared his throat and Harry saw two shot glasses on the table.

"Oh," Harry said, embarrassed. "Right." He poured them each a shot and set the bottle on the table.

Snape raised his shot glass. "To an attempt to find a good mood."

"Cheers." The whiskey burned deliciously, somehow tasting better from the glass than the bottle. Maybe because it was less pathetic. "I have to say, I never thought I'd be drinking with you. Then again, this whole year has been one big 'never thought'."

"No sharing intimate details," Snape said firmly. "Otherwise I'll report you for the Firewhiskey."

"You're a jerk," Harry said. "I wasn't sharing intimate details, I was musing."

"Then I hereby revoke all speaking privileges." Snape poured them another shot. "Though I suppose it is your turn for a toast."

"Hmm," Harry considered. "To, quite literally, underground drinking parties. Less literal on the party end. Literal about—"

"I get it, Potter," Snape interrupted. "Stop toasting and take the shot."

"Fine, sorry," Harry grumbled. This may have been a bad idea; a good mood was nowhere to be found, and it didn't seem like one was on the horizon.

Then again, maybe another shot would help.

Snape refilled the glasses. "To potions."

"No," Harry said quickly before either of them could drink. "I'm not toasting that. Pick something else."

Snape glared at him. "Fine. To Crup puppies and Kneazle kittens."

"I can get behind that," Harry said, and they drank. "I should hold off. I'm not in the mood to get sick."

Snape waved his wand at the Firewhiskey bottle, which glowed green for a second before returning to normal. "There. Hangover free."

Harry ogled him. "What spell was that?"

Snape smirked. "I'm still your professor, Potter, and I'm not supposed to teach such magic."

"Not down here," Harry said. "You're my—my—brewer."

"I'm still your superior," Snape said firmly. "Ordering you to toast a shot of whiskey is perhaps not in my contract, yet I can still dock points if you refuse."

Harry laughed. "To all things outside the rules."

Snape rolled his eyes. "I have spent the entirety of your time at Hogwarts attempting to catch you doing such things."

"Which we're doing now," Harry pointed out. "C'mon. It's a good toast."

Snape sighed. "Fine."

"M'kay, now 've got to stop," Harry said, slurring a little. "No intimate details, no more shots."

"I'm less concerned with such things," Snape said, and Harry decided repeating his words and lowering his inhibitions was as close to drunk as Snape would get. Then Harry remembered that lowered inhibitions was the best part of being drunk.

"To your mother."

"_No_," Harry said angrily. "Stop it with the sad toasts. And no more puppies or kittens either. Do it better."

Snape sighed irritably. "I don't know. I usually drink by myself."

"To drinking not alone," Harry said.

"Acceptable."

They drank, and Harry frowned. "I've lost track of shots. 'M not 'llowed more'n five."

"Oh?" Snape asked, either genuinely curious or Harry was too drunk to tell the difference.

"Not good at drinking," Harry said. "There was a party first weekend, b'fore this boll'cks, an' it didn' end well."

"Well you're on five," Snape supplied. "And you're starting to sound ridiculous."

"Mhm," Harry said sagely. "At th' party, I had—hmm—eight, I think, an' 'Mione said the next day no more than five."

Snape smirked. "You don't even remember why?"

"No," Harry replied angrily. "No, I do. Snogged Dean." He frowned. "Or Seamus. Don' remember."

Snape's eyebrows shot up. "You're gay?"

Harry shrugged. "Haven' had time t' 'vestigate. Busy bein' a snake. Prolly not." He shuffled around so he was lying down and stared at the ceiling. "Wish it wasn' so dank. 'T's d'pressing. But thanks f'r th' smell-thing. 'T's better now. Not so rotty, more pleasan'. Like—um—like, uh—"

"Grass," Snape supplied. "You seemed to like it yesterday." He frowned. "Yesterday? The day before?"

"I dunno," Harry said. "Whatever. Smells nice now. Thanks."

"It's fine, only took ten minutes of brewing," Snape replied. "Then it just sat for a couple hours until it smelled good, and from there it was just a matter of infusing the walls."

"Thass strange," Harry said with a bit of a giggle. "Infusin' walls? Muss be magic."

"Yes, that is how it's done," Snape said, smiling.

"Hmmm," Harry sighed. "'M happier now, some. Still lonely, juss don' really care. Also the idea of turnin' into a Baliskik's pretty ridiculous, when y'think 'bout it."

Snape let out a small laugh. "Not much more than turning into a wolf, if you _really_ think about it."

Harry's eyes widened. "You're right!"

"I almost always am."

Harry considered this for a while. "Were-Flobberworms would be the silliest."

Snape burst into genuine laughter. "I think you're onto something."

"Maybe thass the potion you shoul' do," Harry said. "Turn me into a Flobberworm 'stead of a Basiskil."

"You really have trouble with that word when you're drinking, don't you?"

"Yes," Harry said firmly. "Ssssnake. Ssssnaaaaaape. Better than Balisisk."

"I'm surprised Granger approved five shots," Snape said mildly. "I should've cut you off at three."

"No," Harry sighed. "Five's better." He frowned. "Maybe 've been takin' too many poshuns, though. That calming draught. The relacksashun poshun. Now Fire whiksey. I should b'have m'self."

"You're fine," Snape said dismissively. "You needed the calming draught and the relaxation potion was three months ago."

"Suppose so." Harry sighed. "What time's it?"

Snape conjured a Tempus charm. "A little bit after eleven. Why?"

Harry struggled into a seated position. "'M gonna go back t' Gyrffindor Tow'r. Sleep in m' own room. Maybe fin' 'Mione an' cuddle. Or Ginnieee. We're still good frien's."

"Oh no you don't," Snape said firmly, training his wand on Harry, just in case. "You are not stumbling around this castle in the middle of the night when you're drunk. You're going to get caught and then you'll say something about this. You are staying right here."

"Nooo," Harry whined. "No, I wan' Gyrfinndor."

"No," Snape said. "Stay."

"'M not a dog," Harry said angrily. "Y'can' juss order me to 'sit'. I'll do what I wan'."

"Yes I can," Snape replied. "I'm your superior, your professor, and you are bound to do what I say."

"Like thass stopped m' in th' pass," Harry said, eyes narrowing. "'M leavin'."

"_No_."

"_Yes_."

Purple light shot of Snape's wand, and then he couldn't move. "Hey!" Harry yelled indignantly. "Hey, lemme go!"

"Not until you promise me you aren't leaving," Snape said calmly. "You could still change, it's happened as late as one in the morning, and imagine a drunk Basilisk running amok."

"'ll b' fine," Harry said. "Seriously. Lemme go."

"Are you going to stay here?"

"I don' know but _lemme go!_" Harry said, escalating into yelling. "D'you know the lass time I was moved against my will with a wordless spell? When I was at Tom Riddle's grave. Do you really want to relive those moments with me?"

Snape stared at him, and with a swish of his wand he was released. "I'm sorry."

"Y'better be," Harry grumbled, slipping back into his slur. "Happy thoughts. That was the poin' of drinkin'. Good mood." Then he remembered his original goal. "What if y'walked m' back?"

Snape also had to work to remember what they were talking about. "Potter, it's not safe. If you really need to I'll take you there no earlier than three. You have my permission to wake me up. Don't endanger those around you, those closest to you, because you get selfish when you're drunk."

"I hate this," Harry said angrily, kicking the table. Snape grabbed the bottle of Firewhiskey to keep it from spilling. "I juss wanna go to bed."

Snape sighed heavily. "Do you need help getting into bed, Potter?"

"No!" Harry yelled. Then his voice dropped. "I didn' mean _this_ bed. _My_ bed. In Gyrrifindor."

"I'm calling on our secrecy contract," Snape said, getting out his wand. "This is not to be spoken of."

"Yeah, fine," Harry said, too busy moping to take in his words.

Then suddenly his couch was red. So was Snape's. The chess pieces pushed to the side were red and gold. The sheets dividing the rooms were red trimmed with gold. Snape conjured a red and gold striped rug. He built a hobbled fireplace out of stacked rocks, then transfigured it into a proper fireplace and lit a fire.

"I don't remember what else is in the Gryffindor common room," Snape said. "Have I missed anything?"

Harry was gaping at him. "Uh—"

"Tell me now, I don't want to spend the rest of the night waiting for you to remember your own common room."

"Throws," Harry said. "Red an' gold throws. _Soff'_ throws. An'—uh—" He sighed. "Winnows. I miss winnows."

The throws were easy, but Snape had to concentrate very hard on the last of Harry's requests. A floating rectangle appeared opposite the fireplace, was adorned with red and gold drapes, and, after a great deal of whispered incantations, turned clear and looked out on the grounds. Harry gasped in delight.

"It's the view from the front doors," Snape said, tucking his wand away. "I haven't the slightest idea what Gryffindors see. But it is real, as enchanted as the ceiling in the Great Hall."

Harry suddenly felt like crying. "Thank you." He wrapped a red and gold throw around himself. "You don' get 'nough credit f'r y'r spells."

"I excel at Defense Against the Dark Arts," Snape replied loftily. His face fell a little. "The dark arts as well, through no fault of my own. But yes, Potter, I can hold my own in most areas."

Harry slid off the couch and onto the carpet, which was very comfortable indeed, and sat in front of the fireplace. The warmth felt like home, the crackles and pops were music to his ears, the familiarity of his house colors all the way down here felt like a hug. "Thank you again," he said, voice clogged with unshed tears. After all this time, Snape could still surprise him, even sometimes with kindness.

Another shock when Snape sat next to him, whiskey bottle and shot glasses in hand. He handed one to Harry and filled them.

"To Gryffindor," Harry said remarkably clearly, "and those who bring home to un-homelike places."

Snape winced. "To the second part of that. I'll never toast Gryffindors."

"Close enough." The warmth of the whiskey on the inside combined with the fire on the outside was absolutely fantastic. "No more though. 'Ve had 'nough."

"Have you achieved your happy mood, then?"

"No," Harry said. "But 've axc—acss—c'me to th' cloncusion 'm not goin' to, an' drinkin' m're af'r thass th' road t' addickshion."

"Fair enough." Snape took one more shot, then set the bottle and their glasses aside. "I'm sorry I ruined your good mood."

"No, wasn' you. Was m' condickshun." Harry sighed again. "All-ways wanted a fambly, a proper one, like I never had. Thought I'd get married, have kids, send 'm t' Howgarts. Not 'nymore. What 'f I pass this down?" Another sigh. "No, no kids f'r me."

"I'll find a cure," Snape said. "You've just got to hold off until then."

Harry shook his head. "Too dagnerous. T's all-right. 'Ll survive. 'Ve got Teddy, an' when Ron an' 'Mione have kids, theirs. All th' Weasleys. Live vicalirously. Like you."

"Don't live like me," Snape said. "You'll find a way." He made an expression as if he smelled something very unpleasant. "Your parents were exceptional. You—Dumbledore always said you were destined for something great. You'll get along."

Harry smiled a bit. "Yer nice, when y'want t'be. Dunno why y'couldn' b' nice t'me 'for thiss."

"Because you're an insufferable prat," Snape replied. "Too much like your father."

"Righ', cause Mafloy's so much better," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Y'had t' pick th' git t' favor. Th' two of you, makin' my life a livin' hell."

"I was undercover," Snape said. "It was necessary for the greater good. Even if I had no obligation to him, I certainly wouldn't have chosen you."

"F'rget it," Harry said quietly, angrily. "Don' wanna talk 'bout it 'nymore. Should've known y'couldn' b' nice f'r long."

"Potter—"

"Shut up," Harry interrupted. "Unless th' next words out of y'r mouth 're—'re—I don' even know. Juss please stop talkin'." He let out a sharp breath. "Merlin, y'r th' only one I c'n talk t'. I hate you."

"If it's any consolation, you can be appallingly difficult yourself," Snape replied. "But I don't hate you, not anymore. What's the point? We're stuck in this together, we might as well try getting along."

Harry considered. "How civil. Y'r votalie. One mitune an arse, th' next nice. I don' unnerstad y'."

"You're too drunk to understand anything," Snape replied. "If I had known you were a sad drunk, I never would have let you drink in the first place."

"Well I didn' know,: Harry said irritably. "Lass time I wasn' sad. Handsy, but not sad. Lass time I didn' _have_ 'nythin' t' b' sad 'bout. Lass time was a party."

"And this time?" Snape asked. "I've made your common room, given you a window, aided you in drinking. I've put all my energy into finding a way to control your eyes. What more do you want from me?"

Harry was very drunk indeed, but this was a different sort of drunk, he'd already established that. Maybe he wasn't a handsy drunk after all, maybe he was just a physical drunk. Merlin, he was a physical human, spending the morning cuddling with Hermione. And now he was really drunk, and depressed, and he wanted his parents, or Sirius, or Remus, or Dumbledore, anyone he could talk to who cared about him.

Anyway, his point was that he was really drunk.

So he leaned over, resting against Snape, head on his shoulder, exhausted and defeated body against his side. Even in his drunkenness he could tell how uncomfortable Snape was, how any relaxation was gone, replaced by surprise and awkwardness and probably revulsion but in that moment Harry didn't care, he just needed someone, _anyone_.

"'M sorry," Harry muttered. "Y'r all 've got. Juss for now, please don' hate me."

Snape sighed heavily. "If you ever, _ever_ tell anyone, under _any _circumstances—I don't care if you're under the Cruciatus Curse, or have been fed a vat of Veritaserum—I will see to it that you are expelled with the greatest of dishonors, that everyone knows what you are, and I'll destroy all the work I've done for you, just to spite you. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded. "Mhm." His eyelids were heavy, and he thought sleep was close. That would be brilliant, sleep.

So he was really tired and really drunk and so it almost seemed normal for Snape to wrap an arm around him and hold him.

"If you _ever_—"

"I know," Harry interrupted. "Thanks. 'Ve loss everyone. Juss you."

"Shut up, Potter."

"M'kay."

Harry shifted to the side, leaning fully against the closest person to a guardian he had, and fell asleep against him.

**19**

Harry woke up in bed. He felt like that was wrong, but he wasn't sure why. He wasn't drunk anymore, and he was hangover free, thanks to Snape's spell. But apparently neither of those things equated to remembering the night. The last thing he knew for sure—and this was probably because it was still in effect—was that his bedding and curtains were in Gryffindor colors. After that things were vague. He thought he might have spent a long time moping.

He was still wearing yesterday's clothes, but his glasses were neatly folded on his desk, and his shoes at the foot of his bed. He was—tucked in? Usually he half-heartedly threw the blankets over himself and woke up with them pooled down around his feet. Not this morning, though. It was almost a shame to disrupt the covers long enough to get out.

He shuffled over to his glasses, then out of his room. Harry was shocked to see the makeshift Gryffindor common room still intact. The brewing table was off to the side with two new benches, no doubt transfigured from rocks. That was one thing about the Chamber, there were plenty of rocks for transfiguration. Snape was already at work, stirring diligently.

"Morning," Harry muttered, scuffling over to his bench and sitting down. "What d'you need me to do?"

Snape pushed a pile of cherry pits over. "Halve these."

"'Kay." Harry got to work. He might not have a hangover per se, but he was certainly groggy. He was having a lot of trouble getting his halves even, and after taking new pits for the third time Snape smacked his hand away and ordered him to go get some breakfast.

"D'you want anything?" Harry asked from behind his curtain. "Toast? Muffins? A scone?"

"If they've got raspberry scones, I wouldn't turn one down," Snape replied.

"M'kay."

Harry trudged up to the Great Hall and joined Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table.

"You look awful," Ron said tactfully. "Didn't sleep well?"

"Too much Firewhiskey," Harry replied, opting for a piece of dry toast to test his stomach.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance.

"Down there?" Hermione asked quietly. "By yourself?"

Harry's brain still wasn't working quite right. "Uh, yeah. Charmed my curtains closed and quiet. Pretty boring." The toast was fine, so he helped himself to some eggs, a few pancakes and coffee.

"Thought you were working," Ron said. "That was the whole point of being in the Ch—being down there. You could've brought the bottle up to the Tower, we could've helped out with that."

"I didn't want a repeat of last time," Harry said, regaining himself. "Wouldn't want to snog you, Ron. Sorry, not my type."

Ron snorted orange juice out of his nose and spent a long while complaining about acid and delicate nasal passages and how that wasn't funny at all.

"Or Hermione," Harry said thoughtfully. "Who knows who I'd snog when trashed? Could be anyone."

"Don't worry Harry, I'd slap you long before you could kiss me," Hermione said with a smile. "You only got to Seamus due to the element of surprise. Now that we know you're overly affectionate we can prepare."

Something flashed through Harry's mind. Affection. What about affection? His stomach started turning. Affection, that couldn't be good, not when he was drinking with Snape.

"Then next time I'll be sure to wake you at three in the morning to get wasted," Harry said. "You'd be thrilled about that, right? Snape keeps me busy until then, and even when he lets me off early, I've still got to wait for him to go to bed before sneaking out."

Ron's face fell. "Oh, right," he said dejectedly. "Forgot about that."

"Get a night off," Hermione insisted. "You deserve one. We'll have a little party, just the three of us."

"Think I've had enough alcohol for now, thanks," Harry replied, trying to steer the conversation away. "Plus I've got loads of homework to catch up on. Firewhiskey and essays don't exactly go together."

"Great, you can help me with potions," Ron said. "I can brew decently, but the theory behind it, I'm bollocks. Who cares why you need to stir clockwise or counterclockwise?"

"If you're creating your own potion it matters," Harry said. "You can completely reverse the effects by stirring the wrong way. Not to mention the effect it can have on certain ingredients, especially plants. Plants like to be clockwise."

"Yes they do," Neville piped up. "That's the one thing I know about potions."

"You're infuriating, Harry," Ron muttered. "Helpful, but infuriating."

They finished eating and were halfway standing up before Harry noticed a plate of scones. "Wait, what flavor are those?"

"Raspberry, they're really good," Hermione said.

Harry grabbed a napkin and grabbed two. "For study snacks," he said. "I've got to go down and get my books. I'll meet you in the Tower?"

"Yeah, see you in a few."

Harry cast a warming spell on the scones as he returned to the Chamber.

"Here," he said cheerfully. "Raspberry scones. I've got studying with Ron and Hermione, I'll see you at eight?"

"You nearly failed your last Defense essay, by the way," Snape said. "I'm handing them back tomorrow, but you should be aware you need to step up your work."

Harry glared at him. "You know what I was doing the night before it was due? Milking Inland Taipan snake venom. Do you know how hard it is to milk venom from a dead snake? Do you know how miserable it is to do that to your own species? No, you don't, because you can't milk poison from human fangs, because you haven't got poisonous fangs."

"Stop whining, Potter," Snape replied.

"I brought you scones," Harry muttered as he gathered his books. "I milk your snakes and I bring you scones, and you fail me."

"Nearly, I said," Snape said.

"Brilliant," Harry replied angrily. "I'll be back at eight."

**20**

Just after dinner Harry remembered what had happened last night. He, Ron and Hermione returned to the Tower to finish the last vestiges of homework. Ron and Hermione had sat down next to each other, Ron drawing Hermione into his arms so they were cuddling. Not an uncommon sight, which is why his friends looked so confused as Harry's jaw dropped.

"What's wrong with you?" Ron asked. "Getting so desperate for a girl just the sight of cuddling is enough to get you off?"

"I—no, of course not," Harry stammered. "I just—nothing, just thought of something for my—" He glanced down at his papers "—transfiguration essay."

"Oh?" Hermione asked, eyebrows raised. "What would that be?"

Harry couldn't even remember the topic, not when his brain was swirling with—Merlin's bloody beard—memories of _cuddling_ against _Snape_. He was desperate, Ron was right about that. He was just wrong about what he was desperate for.

"I don't remember anymore," Harry said ridiculously. "Here one minute, gone the next."

"Harry, that's the exact same look you got when you remembered you snogged Seamus," Ron said. "It's your I-just-remembered-how-much-I-fucked-up look."

"He's not wrong," Hermione added. "Though you get that look when you do things other than snog your friend. Turn in a bad paper?"

Of course Hermione would think it had to do with homework. "Yeah," Harry admitted. "Yeah, I think I completely screwed up my last Defense essay. I didn't want to say anything because, y'know, that should be my easiest subject, but Snape kept me up late that night, and I think I said Legilimency instead of Occulmency."

"This is why you should let me check over your papers," Hermione said. "To avoid stupid mistakes."

"I don't buy it," Ron said. "That you blew your essay? Sure. But that look was way worse than a homework assignment gone wrong."

"When it's for Snape?" Harry asked. "No, I don't think so. He's made it blindingly clear to me that he'd be more than happy to fail me. How am I supposed to get into the Ministry without my Defense N.E.W.T.?"

Ron looked at him distrustfully. "Maybe."

"I promise," Harry said firmly. "Hermione, check my Defense essay?"

"Hand it over."

Harry was quite sure it was perfect, he was already paranoid about it, but they didn't know that. He started on Charms while she checked over his work. Charms was his last paper; maybe, if he finished in time, he and Ron could get in a quick chess game.

"It looks good," Hermione said, passing it back. "Well, it looks awful, your handwriting is atrocious, but the content is good."

"Thanks a million."

Harry didn't end up having enough time for chess, they never did. He was feeling bitter about it and almost agreed to stay past eight before remembering his first accident, when he changed suddenly in the dorms and petrified Dean. At least he had the endless excuse of Snape's anger on his side. Harry thought it was entirely possible his friends were starting to get suspicious, but it was early-March, leaving only three months left until he was free.

Of course, by free he meant exiled to the woods. But at least he wouldn't need to make up anymore excuses.

"I finished my Defense essay," Harry said by way of greeting. "Hermione checked it over. _Checked_, mind you, not helped or wrote or anything. If you fail me on this one, it won't be my fault."

"Are you insinuating I'd give you a bad grade just because I dislike you?" Snape asked icily.

"Yes," Harry snapped. Then he sighed. "Sorry. Leaving the common room is getting harder and harder. You know it's only three months until graduation, right? That's all I've got. I want to—_goddammit_!" He changed in agony, screaming and hissing the whole time.

"I think I might have something for you to try in an hour or two."

Harry was coiled with his head safely tucked away. "No 'thinks' or 'mights'," he hissed. "Not after last time."

"I'll reinforce the protection charms," Snape said. "You won't be able to get out."

"That's what you said last time."

"No, last time we weren't planning for a potential breakout," Snape replied. "Now we'll be prepared."

"I don't like it."

"Would you prefer to never test again?" Snape asked.

Harry slammed his tail down. "No."

"And be careful. You're right next to the couches."

Using his tail as a guide, Harry moved himself into a corner. "Well be careful," he said. "And last time you didn't try Imperius or Cruciatus. Don't hold back."

"What didn't I try?"

"Unforgiveable curses."

"Still didn't catch it."

Harry hissed angrily, trying to think of another way to phrase it. "Three spells. Not the green one."

"You want me to use the torture curse?"

"_No_," Harry said, annoyed. "But you have my permission if you've got to."

"I'll keep that in mind. Now be quiet and let me work."

Harry stayed silent for maybe five minutes. "Can you excuse me from Charms? I only got halfway through and I can't write like this."

"No," Snape replied. "You would have had time if you had managed your time better."

"You mean by managing my changes?" Harry asked sarcastically. "If I could do that, this wouldn't be an issue."

"If you hadn't gotten drunk you would have had all of Saturday night."

Harry fell into silence. "I needed it," he started, trying to decide how much to say. "I was being responsible, drinking with a professor, not doing any homework."

"Did you just call Firewhiskey responsible?" Snape asked.

Harry shifted his tail. "Yes."

"Then you are quite dull indeed."

"Well you held me," he burst out.

A long pause. "I didn't catch that, and I need to focus."

"Liar," Harry snapped. "But fine, deny it, you masochistic bastard. You love people hating you."

"Still don't know what you said."

Harry figured that was true. They hadn't covered masochism. "Your best side," he said instead. "And your insistence on keeping it hidden."

"Potter, be quiet. I wasn't lying, I have to focus. This is delicate work, as you well know."

Harry twitched his tail. He had an urge, quite possibly suicidal, to continue the conversation, but he really, _really _didn't want this potion to be as much of a failure as last time. He forced himself into silence, though he was unable to control the anxious swishing of his tail. He was trying not to get his hopes up, really trying, but what if it worked this time? What if he wasn't a danger anymore? It was too much to ask for, especially after only a few weeks in between this one and the last. It wouldn't work, there was no way it would work.

But what if it did?

It felt like forever until Snape spoke again. "Okay, I'm ready."

Harry's heart kicked into overdrive. "Are you sure?"

"No," Snape replied. "I never am. Must we list the dangers again?"

"No," Harry echoed. "Have you got the rat ready?"

"Yes, everything is ready, I told you," Snape replied, annoyed. "Close your eyes, turn around, and open your mouth."

Harry did. The potion tasted like raspberry scones, which was either proof Snape did have a sense of humor or a sign he was cracking up and mixed his breakfast in with the potion.

"Scones away," Harry said.

"Don't use words I don't know at a time like this," Snape said angrily. Also nervously, Harry thought.

"I've swallowed," Harry said instead.

"Good." There were footsteps as Snape moved from in front of him to behind. "Open your eyes."

Harry did. There was a rat in a cage in front of him, like always. He nearly jumped for joy when the rat didn't turn to stone, but then he realized that it wasn't facing him, and thus not looking into his eyes.

"It's not looking at me."

Snape muttered angrily. "Imperius."

The rat turned obediently. Harry stared at it. It stared back. It sniffed the air.

"Snape!" Harry yelled. "Snape, it's not stone!"

"What is it doing?"

"Sniffing," Harry said. "You probably don't know that. Um, moving nose air."

"Sniffing?"

"Yeah." The rat continued to sniff the air, then turned back around and curled up in a corner. "Jesus fucking Christ Merlin's balls it worked!"

"On rats," Snape said. "We have no data on humans. Were those swears, or something important?"

"Swears," Harry answered, excitement dripping away. "How're we supposed to test it on humans?"

"I hadn't gotten that far," Snape admitted. "Go back to your corner and close your eyes so I can examine the rat."

Harry did, and there was a lot of squeaking as Snape investigated.

"Well?" Harry asked eventually. "Any stone?"

"I'm still working," Snape replied. "I'll tell you when I'm done."

Harry swished his tail impatiently. Snape was never going to be done, he'd just sit here in his corner forever, staring at the wall, until he died of old age. There was even more squeaking, and then a flash of green light, and then silence. Harry's stomach clenched. "Don't use that," he said.

"It was quick and painless and necessary," Snape replied without a hint of sympathy. "There is no extra damage, nothing to change the state of the rat. I'm sorry if I've offended your delicate sensibilities."

"Like how you broke down when you found my mum dead?" Harry asked angrily. "Yeah, sure, I'll just forget about that."

Snape paused. "I am sorry. I should have warned you."

"Yeah," Harry said, though his anger abated with the genuine apology. His tail was still jerking more than swishing, but that was a surprisingly good way of relieving tension. Tail whipping, who knew?

After another eternity, Snape finally spoke again. "I believe it worked," he said, sounding a bit awed. "Not a trace of stone. I thought there would be incremental increases, I never thought we would go from nothing to complete success, especially after last time."

"Now what?" Harry asked, bubbling with excitement and nerves. "Who're you going to sacrifice to the test? Can it be Malfoy?"

"I don't know who you suggested, and I don't care to," Snape replied. "You will test on me."

"No," Harry said immediately. "No, absolutely not. You're the only one who can brew, I need you alive."

"I am also the only wizard who would be crazy enough to volunteer for such a position," Snape replied smoothly. Almost smoothly, Harry amended. There was a distinct shake to his voice. "Go ahead. Turn around."

"No," Harry repeated. "No, no, no."

Snape sighed irritably. "What, then? Are rats not used as human analogues in muggle experiments?"

"Well, yes," Harry admitted. "But no."

"So you're just going to stay in the corner for the rest of your life?"

"How do we know how long the potion lasts?" Harry asked. "We need to do a series of tests. A new rat every half hour."

Snape considered. "You have a point. Very well, stay where you are. I will keep an eye on the time."

"Can I have the dead rat?" Harry asked. "I don't care if it's eviscerated, it smells _delicious_."

"Fine," Snape said distastefully, throwing the rodent into Harry's corner, where he quickly devoured it.

"Mm," Harry sighed. "Delicious."

"What's that?" Snape asked. "I know you wanted to eat it, but I missed half the sentence."

"Delicious," Harry repeated slowly. "Tastes good. Yum. Uh, good food."

"Say it one more time."

"Delicious," he hissed. "The other word was eviscerated. Torn apart."

"Again, one more time.

"Eviscerated," Harry said. He knew they were trying to distract themselves from waiting, and he was just fine with that. "You try. Both of them."

"Delicious eviscerated?" Snape asked. "How delightful." Then he slipped into Parseltongue, and it only took a few times before he had perfected it.

"You're getting much better," Harry said. "What next? What's useful?"

"You say you still have your Charms essay to go," Snape replied. "Dictate it to me. I can copy the chicken scratch you call writing with ease."

"Um, okay," Harry said. "It's in my bag. I'll need my book, and my notes. And for you to read me the last paragraph, I don't remember where I was."

"The last what?" he asked, going through Harry's bag.

"Paragraph," Harry said again. "A group of words."

"Fine."

Dictating was extremely slow, but it was distracting.

"Time's up. I'm getting you a new rat."

"Okay," Harry said, stomach turning. Maybe that rat hadn't been a good idea. Merlin this was terrifying. There were a few minutes of shuffling and squeaking, and then Snape gave the all clear.

One eye at a time, Harry opened his eyes. This time the rat was facing him, held still by tiny ropes. He stared at it. The rat stared back. Then it started squeaking and wriggling against its bindings.

"Another live one!" Harry exclaimed. "This is brilliant! Snape, you're amazing."

"I'm holding you to that," Snape said, though there was a smile in his voice. "Close your eyes." The examination took much less time or, more likely, Harry was too excited to feel time pass. "It's fine," Snape said, and yes, he sounded just as excited as Harry felt. "Absolutely perfect, except for the killing curse. Do you care to feed on this delicious evisceration?" He slipped into Parseltongue on the last few words, and Harry laughed in delight.

"Absolutely."

Then back to Charms, which was entirely mundane. Like Defense, and pretty much all of his other classes, Charms was focused on theory, and Harry had to teach Snape works like semicircle and zigzag and, most difficultly, mid-air. It took a lot of frustration before Snape figured out what he was talking about, and by then it was time to get another rat. Harry swished about excitedly, and slithered into position before Snape finished setting up, eyes clamped closed.

"Go ahead."

Harry's eyes flew open. Again, the rat was tied in position with ropes. It squeaked once, then wriggled a little, and then its whiskers turned grey and fell off with a thump. Then its eyes went, which sent it into hysterics, wriggling madly, and that seemed to speed up the process, and a few seconds later it was entirely stone.

"No," Harry said. "Not instantaneous, but no."

"Not what?" Snape asked.

"Immediate?" Harry tried. "It lasted a few seconds."

"Then we will give you another dose, and check in fifteen minute increments after the first half hour," Snape said. "I need to brew another batch, so we have to wait until tomorrow."

"It only takes a night?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Snape replied. "Now get back to your corner, I have work to do."

Harry curled up very happily. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe everything was going to be okay. Maybe. Eventually he calmed down enough to get a couple hours of sleep before he changed back, jerking awake with a pained hiss as he contracted back into human form.

"Do you need help?" Harry asked, all but sprinting over to the table. "What can I do?"

"The cherry pits," Snape said. "Halve them as messily as you did before. Apparently your inability to handle a knife correctly is finally working in your favor."

"Brilliant," Harry said, grabbing a handful of pits and slicing away. Halfway through he jumped up, ran over to the other side of the table and, at the last second, checked himself. Snape was chopping something gross-looking very closely, and Harry didn't want to interrupt him.

"What do you want, Potter?" Snape asked, not looking up from his work.

"I just—never mind," Harry said, flushing a little. "It's not important."

Snape sighed, set the knife down, and looked at Harry. "What?"

Now that Harry had a minute to think it over, he was much more hesitant. "Er—"

"Out with it."

Harry pulled him into a sudden hug. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Snape jerked away, then seemed resigned to the embrace and patted Harry awkwardly on the shoulder. "You're welcome. Now get off me and finish with those cherry pits."

"Yes," Harry said, immediately pulling away. "Yup, uneven cherry pits all the way. How many do you need?"

Snape checked his notes. "Ten and a half."

"Got it." Harry practically bounced through the chopping. A chance glance at the common room, and his stomach dropped. "I need to finish Charms."

"Go."

"It won't delay the potion?"

"Perhaps, but you need to keep your marks up," Snape said, and that sounded suspiciously like he cared about Harry's education. "If you have time when you've finished your essay, you may milk the Inland Taipan."

Harry groaned. "Y'know, I think this paper might take me the rest of the night. And I could use a nap. Plus breakfast." Then he broke into a sunny grin. "Then again, milking isn't so bad."

"Stop babbling, Potter, and do your essay," Snape said. "After that we'll see."

The essay flew by, and Harry was back at the bench what seemed like minutes later. As soon as he sat down without anything specific for his eyes to focus on, his vision doubled and his eyelids drooped.

"Go to bed," Snape said. "You're of no use to me like this. Come down early tomorrow, if you like. When is your last class?"

"Four," Harry said with a yawn. "I should do homework until dinner, though, and maybe after too, depending. I'll be down as soon as I can."

"Fine," Snape replied. "Get some sleep."

"Yeah," Harry sighed, heading into his room. Then he poked his head out. "How're you on Pepper Up? I can get some from Slughorn or Madame Pomfrey if we're low."

Snape checked. "If you can avoid suspicion, it wouldn't hurt anything."

"M'kay. G'night."

"Sleep well."

That was different, but they were both in a brilliant mood, and perhaps some of last night's drinking was still lingering. "Brew well," Harry said with a smile before retreating into his room. He'd check with Neville about the mandrakes in the morning, but he was so excited not even the idea of slow-growing mandrakes was enough to dampen his mood. They'd get there sooner or later. Everything was going to be fine.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** So I had a whole list of things I was going to talk about in today's author's note, but instead will you do something for me? Will you take a moment, even just a few seconds, before you read this chapter and send some love or prayers or good wishes or whatever you believe in to the families in Connecticut? They're only one state over from me, and it's really hitting hard.

Anyway, enjoy the chapter. Extra enjoy it, yes? Take the smiles and the enjoys from wherever you can. Always.

**Chapter Six**

**21**

The news at breakfast wasn't good. When Harry asked Neville about the Mandrakes, he all but burst into tears.

"I don't know," he wailed. "I don't know about mandrakes, we studied them seven years ago, I don't know what they eat or how much to water them or how fast they're supposed to grow. I've got Professor Sprout's library and I'm following the instructions as best I can, but she didn't _leave_ instructions, not for this, it's only what's in the books, and—"

"Shh," Hermione said soothingly. She rubbed his back and shot a glare at Harry. "Everyone knows you're doing the best you can. I'm sure it's brilliant. Have they started bickering yet?"

Neville sniffled. "Yeah," he said. "They're moody as all get out, but I can't remember _when_ that happened second year or how long it took them to mature _after_ that and maybe I should be doing something different, I just don't _know_."

"I'm sorry I asked," Harry said quietly. He was going to tell them that he'd had a breakthrough on his project, but now didn't seem the time. "I just—"

"You just wanted to know, I know," Neville said. "_Everyone_ wants to know. Madame Pomfrey owls me every single day asking about their progress. Professor McGonagall checks in at least twice a week if not more, and Professor Slughorn keeps asking when he should start the rest of the potion."

Harry looked up. "What? I thought Snape was brewing it."

Neville shrugged hopelessly. "I've only heard from Slughorn."

Harry's stomach twisted angrily. Snape was the right man for the job, he knew how to make it, he had done it before, and Harry was preventing him from his real job. It was a matter of healing those Harry had already hurt versus preventing Harry from hurting anyone else. It hadn't even occurred to him that Neville was having as hard a time as he was, and probably worse, since he didn't have a professor watching over his shoulder.

Then again, this whole thing was Harry's fault in the first place. He really did have a gift for ruining everything, every time.

"I'm not hungry," Harry said, pushing his plate away and standing up. "I'll meet you in class." He walked out of the Great Hall and up to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Her old bathroom; it could hardly be said to be hers when she was lying petrified in the infirmary. He gripped the edges of one of the sinks as sobs shook through him. Neville, how could he have forgotten about Neville? It didn't matter if Harry found a way of disarming his eyes, not if the ones who are already petrified couldn't get better.

He heard the stones shifting behind him and closed his eyes. "Neville needs help with the mandrakes," he said hollowly. "And since when are you letting Slughorn make the cure? You've done it before, you're better at potions than he is."

"I have other potions to brew," Snape replied. "Horace is competent. He will do an acceptable job."

"Competent," Harry shot back. "Acceptable. Don't you think they deserve more?"

"I cannot be in two places at once, Potter. I will supervise him, and make any necessary changes. You need my help far more than he does. As for Longbottom, I know very little of plants and would be no use to him."

Harry wished for his tail, wished he had something he could slam into the walls. "I'm going back to the Chamber," he said. "I'll send my paper up."

Snape grabbed his arm as he tried to pass. "No you're not," he said firmly. "You're going to my class, and then the next, and the one after that. You will eat your meals and do your homework and prepare your potion."

Harry attempted to wrench free, but Snape was very strong. "Let me go," he snapped. "I'll do whatever I want."

"You will do as I say," Snape replied smoothly. "You have said that I am all you have; fine, so be it. If I have a responsibility to you, I am not going to let you throw your life away just because you're in a bad mood."

"It's not my whole life," Harry said, though his voice had dropped. What had Snape said? What did he mean? "It's one bloody day."

"You have missed a great deal of classes this year," Snape said. "I will not stand by while you willfully disregard the rest. If you are violently ill or still in your other form, perhaps I will allow you to stay in the Chamber. But now you are sulking, and that is not an acceptable excuse." His hand tightened on Harry's arm, and once again he tried to shake him off. "Frankly, Potter, I'm sick of it. I have known for years you are a whiny, selfish brat, but before now I have not had to deal with you directly. I have been very patient with you but, as you always do, you have crossed the line. You _will_ go to class, and you _will_ stop complaining about it."

Harry slumped down and, knowing his fight was gone, Snape let go. "Fine," Harry said blankly.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for making me miss breakfast," Snape added. "Now go, I do not wish to be seen entering my classroom with you."

Harry went through his classes dully, focusing his attention away from himself and on the lectures. The words flew in one ear and out the other, but at least he took good notes. He made a transparent effort to be cheerful at lunch. His homework seemed to drag on forever, but whenever he glanced at the clock he found time had slowed as well, the end result being he finished all his work before eight. He even had time for a game of chess against Ron, and even winning failed to make him feel better, though the incredulous look on Ron's face was almost enough to get him to smile.

By the time Harry was back down in the Chamber he felt a bit better. He had finished his homework, he'd beat Ron at chess, the Mandrakes were about to enter adolescence, and Snape had brewed a successful potion. Perhaps things weren't as awful as he'd thought.

"I'm all yours," Harry told Snape, sitting opposite him as he always did. "Homework's done. Just brewing tonight."

"Come over here," Snape instructed. "Chop these leaves finely."

"Why there?" Harry asked, pulling the leaves towards himself. "I'm terrible at finely, but being on the other side of the bench won't help."

"It will allow me to observe you more closely," Snape replied, taking the leaves back. "And do not move the ingredients without my permission."

Harry sighed. "Fine." He moved next to Snape and, much to his chagrin, he actually did do a better job. Snape only sent the leaves back once before he declared them acceptable.

"The rest I can do without you," Snape said. "I did a great deal of preparation during the day. You may do as you please."

Harry curled his arm on the table and rested his head on that. "I want to change," he said.

"Then do it."

"I can't," Harry replied irritably. "We've been through this.

"Then don't complain."

Harry sighed. Snape was infuriating. "Are you _sure_ there's nothing I can do?"

"Yes."

Harry groaned. "You say I can go back to Gryffindor Tower at three in the morning, yes? That's not for seven hours. What am I supposed to do for seven hours?"

"Stop complaining," Snape repeated. "Read. Play yourself at chess. Do whatever it is you do at night."

He thought, which, to be fair, was what he usually did. "Did you take responsibility for me this morning?"

"No," Snape said crossly. "I would never do such a stupid thing."

"Then what—"

"Stop talking, I'm focusing," Snape replied. "If you're going to stay here, you have to stay quiet."

Harry did. He never would have thought being next to Snape would be comforting, but he didn't particularly care. He just watched Snape brew.

That, in fact, was not a good plan. He created a huge panic when he changed, destroying the potions table and knocking the cauldron over. Snape was yelling something at him but he couldn't hear over his own agonized screams. Screaming, however, proved to be extremely fortuitous. When the cauldron fell it upended into his mouth, nearly choking him, but he did get the full dose of the potion.

And just like that, they tested the potion on a human.

Harry could never keep his eyes closed immediately after a change, he was too busy gulping air into his abused lungs and trying to get over the pain. It was like after a particularly difficult Quidditch game; getting over the exertion took all his effort, and his eyes were not on his radar. In fact, he didn't even realize what happened until Snape's screams were cut off quite suddenly and Harry realized he was looking directly at him. The silence nearly gave him a heart attack.

But, on closer inspection, Snape had been shocked into silence, not turned into stone. His silence was due to a loss for words, not death.

"That was—" Harry stammered.

"Extraordinarily irresponsible," Snape filled in. "But informative."

"_Informative_?" Harry echoed. "You did it. You've cured my eyes."

"Perhaps," Snape replied. "Look away from me, would you? We haven't done our time tests on rats yet, let alone on humans. Rats are considerably smaller than I. Maybe you'll be safer for longer because there is more mass for your eyes to bore through. Or maybe the opposite is true, we have no idea."

"Yeah but you offered to test," Harry protested. He was elated, _beyond_ elated, and wanted nothing more than to prove that he was safe.

"_Stop_," Snape said angrily. "Go to your corner while I work out how to test this as safely as possible."

"_Go to your corner_," Harry mimicked, slithering away. "Merlin, I feel like I'm five again." He paused. "No, I guess a corner is better than a cupboard."

He heard Snape returning order to the potions area, and then a tapping as he thought.

Snape let out a shaky sigh. "All we can do is have you look at me," he said. "There isn't another way to do it. The rat you killed was a gradual process, and I believe I will have the time to get away." He laughed darkly. "I can still turn to smoke, thanks to the Dark Lord. I don't imagine you can turn smoke to stone."

Harry swished his tail thoughtfully. "I wouldn't bet against it," he said. "Just tell me if there's a problem. Or, if you can't speak, use wandless magic to send up a shower of red sparks."

"We'll keep an eye on the time," Snape continued, and Harry could tell he was nervous by the sudden use of contractions. He paused for a few moments. "Okay, well, might as well get started. You can come back over."

Harry was much less excited when faced with the possibility of severely damaging or, more likely, killing, his professor. He slithered over to the common room with his eyes closed, following the sound of Snape's breathing, and settled with his head on the plush carpet.

"Open your eyes," Snape said, sounding remarkably sure of himself.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked.

"No," Snape replied. "We haven't been sure of anything. But go ahead."

Harry tapped his tail nervously. "I don't want to kill you," he said quietly. "We've been—I don't know, but I don't want to kill you."

"You're too kind," Snape said dryly. "I don't want to be killed either. Then again, I have survived near death before. If the Dark Lord couldn't kill me, I'm relatively certain you can't."

"I did kill him," Harry reminded him.

Snape scoffed. "You disarmed Draco Malfoy."

"You're an arse," Harry snapped, opening his eyes and glaring at Snape. "Do you have any idea—"

"You can stop berating me," Snape interrupted. "I assumed you wouldn't work up the courage to open your eyes unless I surprised or angered it out of you."

Harry's glare intensified. "Fucking prat."

"Eleven points from Gryffindor," Snape said. "I have come to understand that it is unavoidable you call me names, but I draw the line at that word, which you know full well. One point for each letter. For the second time, I remind you."

"You tried to goad me into killing you," Harry hissed. "Brilliant."

"I'm not dead," Snape said. "Come, let us use this time for Parseltongue lessons. There is no point in sitting around worrying."

"Chess," Harry countered. "I'm too anxious to teach."

"Too what?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I know you know what that means. _Accio _chess set." It flew across the room and settled on the table. Harry's eyes flew open. "Oh, I forgot I hadn't tried spells yet. I guess they work."

"We can do more exhaustive research on that later, when my life is no longer on the line," Snape said, setting up the chess game.

Harry's heart was twisting. It wasn't that odd, given how his relationship with Snape had matured, but he was still surprised at how much he cared. "I don't like this," he said.

"Put it out of your mind," Snape said.

Harry twitched his tail anxiously. "Could you light a fire? I'm always freezing when I'm like this. We need a heat lamp."

"I understood almost none of that," Snape replied. "Were you trying to direct a chess piece?"

"No," Harry said. "I'm cold. Fire." He nodded towards the fireplace. "Warm?"

"Right," Snape said, lighting a fire. "We should have gotten a heat lamp."

"That's what I said," Harry muttered. "Heat. Lamp." Snape performed a series of complicated gestures with his wand above Harry, and suddenly heat was radiating towards him. "Ohh," Harry sighed, eyes slipping shut. "Oh, that's good. We should have thought of this _ages_ ago. I can't kill you now, not when you're this brilliant."

Snape smiled, just a little. "Go on, it's your turn to start."

They were halfway through the game when Snape suddenly jerked back.

"Stop!" he yelled. "Stop, close your eyes, stop!"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut immediately. "What? What's wrong? Are you okay?" Snape didn't answer right away, and Harry panicked. "What happened? What's going on? Are you alive?" That was stupid, he could hear Snape's heart beating, but he couldn't think clearly.

"Yes," Snape said finally. "Yes, I'm okay. You only got a few strands of hair. Much like the rat, who started with the whiskers. How interesting."

"Interesting," Harry said numbly. "I almost killed you and you think it's interesting."

"Don't be overdramatic," Snape replied. "A few stands of hair hardly equates near death."

Harry quickly moved back to his corner, head buried in his coils. "How long was that?"

"Just under an hour," Snape replied. "The same as the rat."

Harry wanted to swish his tail, he knew it would make him feel better, but he was too upset to unclench himself. "That's awful," he said. "It takes overnight to brew, and only gives me an hour. Even if I stocked up, I don't have the hands to drink it myself when I'm changed." He sighed. "Still, I guess it's better than nothing."

"I merely need to make it more potent," Snape replied. "That will hardly be difficult. I declare a tie in our game so I can begin brewing."

"Do you think it'll take longer?"

"No," Snape said over the sounds of starting the potion. "Not yet, at least. First I will try adding higher concentrations of our ingredients. If that does not work, then I will let it brew longer."

"Okay," Harry said quietly. He felt a little like throwing up. Excitement mixed with terror wasn't exactly good for the stomach. After an hour or so he couldn't stand it anymore and, eyes closed firmly, glided over to Snape. He had gotten very adept at moving around with his eyes closed as he learned to trust his heightened senses. Very, very gently, he rested the tip of his tail on Snape's foot.

"What are you doing?" Snape asked distractedly.

"I'm sorry," Harry all but whispered. "I know it was just your hair, but I'm so sorry."

Snape stilled, then returned to the potion. "You did nothing wrong beyond not being careful enough with your transformation. It was my decision to act as a guinea pig. If I lose a few hairs, so be it."

Harry stayed silent. He was thinking again. His relationship with Snape had been improving slowly and steadily, mostly slowly, over the course of their months together in the Chamber, but drinking together had jumped it forward. It still felt strange to be able to be in physical contact with him, but neither moved away, or seemed particularly upset. Just a little strange.

Harry felt asleep shortly after that and only woke up when he changed back. Every time he tried not to scream, tried to get himself used to the pain, and it never worked. Screaming and writhing in agony on the floor next to Snape was much more embarrassing and much less comfortable than a tiny tip of his tail. At least he was saved the humiliation of destroying the potions station this time.

He sat on the floor for a few minutes, leaning against a leg of the table before standing up and stretching. "D'you want help, or can I go to sleep?"

"Sleep," Snape replied immediately. "Tuesdays are your short day, yes? Come down after your last class, halve cherry pits and finely chop the Tentacula leaves."

"Can't I tonight?" Harry asked. "I'll have homework then, and I'm free now."

"You need sleep," Snape said firmly. "You were a wreck in Defense. Go to bed."

"I was _upset_, not tired," Harry grumbled. "But fine. See you then."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** I'm very, very cold and very, very tired and very, very bitter about the fact that I got out of bed. It was a mistake. Bed is better.

Anyway. No more Scrooge. I'm jut tired and whiney.

Enjoy the new chapter!

**Chapter Seven**

**22**

"They threw a party last night!" Neville announced before he'd even sat down. "The greenhouse was a wreck, but they threw a bloody party!"

Cheers radiated out as the news spread.

More quietly, Harry said, "Snape and I have been making loads of progress, too. We need more experiments, but we're getting there."

"How are you testing it?" Ron asked.

Harry froze. "There's a snake called the Inland Taipan that's the most deadly snake in the world."

"With its eyes?" Hermione asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No," Harry said, wracking his brain. "Snape invented a spell to give it sort of laser eyes. It's not the same as a Basilisk, but it's as close as we can get."

Ron frowned. "Lasers? What're lasers?"

Harry, who had become very accustomed to defining words, quickly explained. "We won't know for sure unless the real Basilisk shows itself."

"The last attack was only last week," Ron said. "They seem to come in groupings. It's bound to be seen eventually."

Harry's stomach churned uncomfortably. "Hopefully not," he said. Then he really thought about it. "No, actually, they don't. The first three were pretty close together, but the Hufflepuffs—oh, wait, I see your point. I'd rather never have the chance to test it than there be another attack."

"Cheers."

Harry went down to the Chamber right after Transfiguration, as promised.

"Have you noticed the accidents come in groupings?" Harry asked as he started on the cherry pits. "The first three accidents were all close together. Maybe that means I'm about to strike again, since the Hufflepuffs were only last week."

"No," Snape said. "The first were as you were getting used to your condition and testing the limits. The Hufflepuffs were my fault. You needn't worry."

"I suppose," Harry said, though he wasn't convinced. "How many cherry pits this time?"

"Twenty-one."

Harry sighed. He'd needed to stop to sharpen the knife two or three times when he was only doing ten and a half, let alone twice that. He hated sharpening knives, it always felt like such a waste of time. But eventually he made it through the pits and then onto the Tentacula leaves. The heaping pile Snape handed him was even more disheartening. Reducing this many leaves to "finely" was going to take forever. And in the best case scenario it would work, meaning he'd have to do this all the time for the rest of his life.

"We need a mixer," Harry said.

"No," Snape said again. "Potions are always stronger when prepared by hand."

Harry sighed again. Of course they were.

Even though it seemed like the combined tasks had taken hours and hours, he was done by four. "Two hours until dinner," he said. "Got anything else for me?"

"Milking," Snape replied, handing him a dead Inland Taipan. "You'll have to get twice as much venom as you had before."

Harry stared at him. "I can't magic its fangs bigger," he said. "There's as much venom as there is. I don't have any control over it. I need two snakes."

Snape shook his head sharply. "These snakes are not easy to get, and we want to use them as sparingly as possible. You'll just have to make do."

Harry muttered to himself angrily the whole time. First he went through the normal milking process, arriving with the same amount of venom as before. Then he yanked the teeth out and let a few more drops leak out. Finally he ended up with a Q-tip, swabbing the insides of the teeth and wringing them out over the bowl.

"That's as much as I can get," Harry said.

Snape poured the venom into a vial and examined it closely. "Good enough, I suppose," he said. "You really can't get any more?"

Harry grabbed his wrist and slammed the teeth into his hand. "You try."

Snape jerked away. "Twenty points from Gryffindor," he snapped. "A simple no would have sufficed."

Harry glanced at the clock. "Sorry," he muttered. "Tuesdays may be early, but I don't get lunch and I'm starved. Dinner?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking my permission or inviting me?"

"I'm too hungry to care," Harry said.

"Then go without me," Snape replied, turning back to his potion. "If you would not mind by all means bring me something, but I can go without a meal."

Harry paused. "You don't have to skip meals for me. It'll get done."

"I am trying to streamline the brewing process as well as make it more potent," Snape replied. "I'm not taking a break until it's simmering."

"If you say so," Harry said hesitantly.

"Go."

Harry spent most of dinner apologizing to Ron for not helping him with his potions essay that was due tomorrow. Ron didn't stop ragging on him until Harry told him he hadn't done any of his homework at all, and he'd no doubt be up until four in the morning. Hermione pursed her lips at this, though she had learned not to bother Harry about asking for time off, since he clearly wasn't going to and Snape clearly wouldn't let him (he had failed to mention the times when Snape had not only let him off but demanded he stop). Neville was still bouncing with excitement over the mandrake party. Harry was trying to decide if he could just say he was bringing Snape dinner, or if that would seem like he was acting too nicely towards the professor, and have to smuggle the food out.

It wasn't a dinner that was easy to smuggle. Bread rolls, yes. Those could go in pockets. But lasagna? That was messy enough on a place, let alone somehow secretly nabbing a few slices. Eventually he just gave up and took two pieces of the pasta, a roll and, once dessert appeared, a slice of blueberry cobbler.

Only Ron raised an eyebrow at this.

"He's Snape," he pointed out. "Since when does Snape deserve cobbler?"

Harry had told them about Snape's memories, but had kept a few details to himself, mostly the ones regarding his father. And of course they didn't know that Harry was the monster Snape was trying to help. To everybody's shock, it was Neville who spoke up to defend him.

"If I deserve cobbler, so does he," Neville said firmly. "He terrifies me and I hate him, but the work he's doing is downright noble."

Harry blinked at him. "Er, right. That. Anyway, I should go, I've got at least two essays due tomorrow. See you in the morning."

Snape was impressed by the dinner, though he didn't show it. Instead he merely instructed Harry to put it on the table in the common room with a warming charm keeping it fresh.

"Is it okay if I do homework?" Harry asked. "I haven't had a chance all day."

"I was going to insist."

Harry settled in the common room with a giant mound of books and parchment and got to work. It felt enough like Gryffindor Tower and he was distracted enough that he nearly had a heart attack when Snape came over.

"Simmering?" Harry asked once he remembered the head of Slytherin wasn't calmly waltzing into the Gryffindor common room.

"For the next twelve hours," Snape replied. "Then whenever you're ready."

"Merlin, not tonight," Harry muttered, going back to his papers. At least he didn't have Defense, which was frankly terrifying to do next to his professor. Charms was easy enough, as was Transfiguration, but for the first time in a long time he got stuck on Potions. "How do you keep a potion that's simmering not to thicken?" he asked eventually.

"Figure it out yourself, Potter."

"I've tried," Harry said, just this side of whining. "The book doesn't say, you didn't mention it in class, and while you're doing this exact thing a few meters away, you never explained why."

"It has to do with magic," Snape replied in between bites of lasagna.

Harry groaned. "May I examine your potion?"

Snape nodded. "You helped make it, you have access to it."

Harry spent a long time poking around before he realized the obvious—the orange zest. Citrus was a thinner, and it counteracted any potential thickening. He returned to his essay and finished a few minutes later. He sighed in relief and put his feet up. "Three essays, and it only took me five hours," he said, somewhere between amused, horrified and proud of himself.

"Mm," Snape said neutrally. He had finished eating and was just sitting, presumably relaxing, though it wasn't as if he had more than one expression so Harry could actually tell what he was thinking.

"I'm not tired yet," Harry said, floating his homework back into his room. "Chess?"

"I have spent all day thinking, I would prefer a few moments rest."

"Can I get you a book or something?" Harry asked, so used to fetching things it didn't occur to him that might be an odd thing to say.

"No," Snape said calmly. He closed his eyes and sighed. That was an expression, an actual real live expression. He looked peaceful. It was bizarre.

Harry thought he might be on to something. If just sitting and doing nothing was enough to get Snape of all people to relax, maybe it would help him, too. It had been a good day, but even his good days were filled with nonstop work, and maybe it would be good not to do anything. He slumped down, feet sliding across the coffee table as he settled into the couch, and he closed his eyes.

He saw what he always did when he closed his eyes: snakes. Snakes and petrified bodies. He frowned, forcing the images away. And then, again like always, visions of the war floated in. They got tangled up with the petrified. Blood and death and battles and Voldemort and petrified. Fred, Tonks, Remus, Sirius, Hagrid, Dean. They were all mixed up together.

Taking Snape's memories as he bled out. Watching them in the Pensieve and realizing just how awful his father had been during his Hogwarts days. Finding out that Dumbledore had orchestrated his death the year before and Snape had been working for him the whole time. The jolt of just how much Snape loved Lily.

"How did you survive Nagini's attack?" Harry asked.

"No," Snape said. "I'm relaxing and I'm not talking about that."

"Whenever I try to bring up something serious you refuse to talk about it," Harry accused. "How you survived the attack, your relationship with my parents, your entire life as a spy and everything you did for our side. I get why you don't want to talk about Dumbledore, neither do I, but you did so many fantastic things. We're friends, sort of, in a way. Why won't you talk to me?"

"Do you want to go into the details regarding your darkest memories?" Snape asked, still in that calm, relaxed voice. "Watching the Dark Lord rise, watching Sirius die, talk about all the ways I have made your life difficult over the years? Is that a nice, relaxing time for you?"

Harry sighed. "I want to get to know you," he said.

Snape let out an irritated sigh. "One word explanations. What did you ask?"

"How did you survive Nagini's attack?" Harry asked.

"Dittany."

Right, that was obvious. He must have waited just long enough for Voldemort to leave before applying it. Or maybe grasped at his neck with the bottle hidden in his hand. Harry thought back to his questions. He didn't really want to ask about his parents, he had seen that first hand in Snape's memories. He had seen the important parts about his spying as well, all the times when he had chosen light over dark. Harry suddenly realized just how much he knew about Snape.

"Are you ever going to be happy?" That wasn't really a fair question, but it was an important one.

Snape considered for quite some time before answering. "Yes."

Harry hadn't even started to think of his next question before Snape spoke again.

"This is not an equal conversation," he said. "A question for a question."

Harry shrugged. "Okay." Pretty much all of his business was public knowledge, he didn't think there was much to hide.

"Did it ever occur to you there might have been more than what you saw when I killed Dumbledore?"

Harry froze. No, he hadn't been expecting that. He had to think very hard to answer. The eventual deciding factor wasn't the killing curse, or what followed, but what had happened just before, when Snape had told him to be quiet as he walked up the tower. "Yes. Did you carry me to bed and tuck me in when I was really drunk, or did I manage myself?" Harry immediately added, "Wait, that's a terrible yes or no question. Did you do those things?"

In a pained voice, Snape said, "Yes. However, you initiated physical contact. Why?"

One word. Why had he said one word? One word was impossible. He could say lonely, or sad, or drunk, and they would all be true. The real answer, though, was two words, and they didn't separate well. Then again, this was his own fault. "Need." Needed _to_ or needed _you_ or needed _physical contact_ or needed _to pretend there was an adult who loved me_. Not that those answers were much better, now that he thought about it. "You said you thought you'd be happy one day. Do you think you'll find someone who isn't my mum? Do you think you'll ever settle down?"

Harry saw Snape struggling, and thought the one word rule was becoming an issue for him as well. "Unlikely. Do you trust me now?"

"Yes," Harry said without a moment's hesitation. "Do you trust me?"

"Predominantly." That was flattering. After everything Snape had done, Harry could forgive him, but Snape couldn't set aside their differences? Brilliant. "Do you promise me you won't exile yourself after Hogwarts?"

That depended entirely on the success of Snape's potions. He didn't want to say maybe, that felt like cheating, but he couldn't think of another way to phrase it. "Potion?" That was a question, sort of, but mostly an answer. "After we're done with the potions, whenever that is, are you going to go back to hating me and kick me out of your life?"

There was a pause, but somehow it felt calculated instead of real. "No." Then a real pause as Snape planned his next question. Instead of asking he said, "It is far too late for such a childish game. I'm going to bed."

"No, don't," Harry said without thinking. Snape gave him a very odd look, but didn't rise from his position on the couch. "The mandrakes threw a party last night. Everyone is celebrating. The common room will be filled with friends and food and joy, and I'm down here."

"You have your own good news to be happy about," Snape replied. "The success, however limited by time, of our potion. Rejoice in that."

"I'm happy about both," Harry said. "That's not my point. I don't have anyone to celebrate with."

"It is a school night, Potter," Snape said. "You shouldn't be celebrating by staying up late, or drinking, or however Gryffindors celebrate. Celebrate by doing yourself a favor and getting a decent night's sleep. You are sorely lacking."

"I don't want to sleep, and I don't want to drink," Harry said. "I just want another person to acknowledge what's happening, and that life isn't entirely awful."

"I assure you, it is not," Snape said, which was a very odd thing to hear from him. "Does this require an extended conversation on the details of mandrake parties, or yet again going over my plan for the potion?"

"No," Harry said irritably. "Forget it. Figures you wouldn't understand the concept of celebration."

Snape sighed heavily. "I tire of you determining what I do and do not know about," he said. "I am fully capable of celebrating a success, I just chose to do it differently than an eighteen year old."

"Celebrating by yourself is lonely and depressing," Harry said firmly. "I don't care what we do, but we should mark this day somehow."

Snape considered. Then he pulled out his wand and conjured a series of tiny, flickering balls of flame from the fireplace to dance over the table. "One for each of the petrified. One for our potion and one for the mandrakes. And," he said, looking very uncomfortable, "one for you, because apparently Gryffindors don't consider a celebration proper without some sort of fanfare."

Harry smiled. "Thank you."

Snape put his wand away. "They will burn for the rest of the night, in case you need a late night reminder. Now I really am going to bed, whether or not it suits you, and I recommend you do the same."

"Yeah, suppose so." They walked to their rooms together, Gryffindor red and gold next to Slytherin green and silver (Snape had changed his the day following the Gryffindor colors). They hovered outside the curtains as if there was something else to say. Harry, who was only ever full of stupid ideas, reached out and squeezed Snape's hand, just for a moment. "See you in the morning."

"Until then."

**24**

Harry woke up feeling not nearly as celebratory. For one thing, his condition wreaked havoc with his sleep schedule, and he was up at five. He refused to get dressed that early and shuffled out of his room to find Snape already brewing.

"Don't you ever sleep?" Harry asked, slumping onto the table.

"It has been known to happen," Snape replied.

Harry glared at him. "You're in a good mood."

"You need not take it so personally," Snape said. "You were filled with your own good mood last night. I merely needed a good sleep before the implications of our potion fully sunk in. What is your excuse for losing your good cheer?"

"I'm going to spend the rest of my life brewing potions," Harry said. "Even if we get it under control, I can't work for the Ministry when all my time is taken up by _finely_ mincing Tentacula leaves. Besides, how am I supposed to drink this myself? You've been feeding me, aside from the accident with the table. I don't have any hands," he said, waving his hands in the air.

"There is always a solution to be found," Snape replied, sounding almost optimistic. "Come here. You should know what this looks like when it's properly brewed."

Harry heaved himself up and collapsed on the other bench next to Snape. "It's only half-done," he said, eyeing the red liquid.

"And you should be intimately familiar with every stage," Snape replied. "See how it is just barely bubbling around the edges? You must keep it exactly as that. Look at the strength of the fire; it is hardly there at all. This is important, Potter. What will you do when I am no longer there to brew for you?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry muttered. "Besides, we don't know if this'll work or not, or how well."

"Then you will know what it looks like when it is brewed incorrectly," Snape said. "That is just as important as knowing the correct appearance. You must be able to recognize both."

Harry sighed. "Yeah, fine."

There was a very long silence as Snape watched the potion. Then, keeping his eyes on the cauldron, he said, "I have decided you should spend the summer in Spinner's End with me. My basement is quite vast, and we can have a similar setup to what we have now. It will give me the best opportunity to continue our tests and, once we have completed this potion, to move on to others. It presents the smallest risk of you doing something stupid and rash."

Harry stared at him. "The Forbidden Forest— Hebrideans—"

"I do not wish to spend my summer in the woods, nor attempt to keep a sterile working environment in such conditions. I am even less pleased to keep a constant eye out for dragons."

Harry continued to stare at him. "And during the days?" he asked. "What do you expect me to do then?"

"Whatever you usually do during the summer," Snape replied. "I am hardly intimate with your activities outside of Hogwarts."

Harry attempted to process this. "You want me to live with you," he said bluntly.

"The use of the word 'want' may be stretching, but yes," Snape said.

Harry tapped his foot on the floor, as close to swishing his tail as he could get. "I suppose it would be less lonely than exiling myself," he said slowly. "Unless you spend your entire time locked away avoiding me, which I wouldn't put past you. And…"

"We have already shown that is not my intention," Snape said. "I am curious to the rest of your sentence."

Harry closed his eyes, letting Snape's memories from the Pensieve wash over him. "It's close to where my mum grew up, isn't it?"

A short pause. "Yes."

Harry nodded. "Fine, then. I need some things from Grimmauld Place, but I suppose it makes sense."

"You shall have your own room to do whatever you please with," Snape said. "I would be careful spending the night there as the room is not nearly as expansive as my cellar, but the choice is yours."

Harry's mind was racing, trying to make sense of this. "We can play chess?"

A small smile danced across Snape's face. "Yes, Potter, we can play chess."

"And occasionally get completely smashed, right?"

"I see no reason why not."

"Is there a place to fly nearby? Enchanted airspace or something?"

Snape considered. "I am not sure. There is a large field not too far away I can enchant for you."

Harry fidgeted. "Can I have friends over?"

Snape winced. "If you must. Though how you would explain your presence at my house I do not know."

That, in fact, was a very good point. "I'll just stick to the Burrow, then, and invite them over to Grimmauld Place so it won't seem suspicious."

Snape nodded. "A wise decision."

Harry's fidgeting grew. "How am I supposed to explain why I'm not working at the Ministry? Or why I've got to leave so early every night?"

"You may blame me, if you wish," Snape offered. "Tell them you have changed your mind, that you spent too much time battling dark wizards to make a career of it. Instead you are serving an apprenticeship with me."

Harry stared at him. "You're brilliant."

Snape's tight smile returned. "I am either brilliant or a prat depending upon your mood. I will accept the momentary flattery, however fleeting it may be."

Harry had another question, but it wasn't the sort of thing he could ask Snape, it was the sort of thing he'd just have to hold out and see. He settled back down against the table, using his arms as a pillow.

"Thank you," Harry said quietly. "For everything."

"Yes, well," Snape said awkwardly, and Harry thought he wasn't used to receiving praise.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Harry asked. "You've done so much, and all I've done is chop and whine and be a prat."

"Continue to chop and stop the other two," Snape replied. He let out a small sigh and sat down. "There is nothing I can do for the potion now beyond worry. And still, two hours until breakfast."

"Yeah, my sleep is fu—messed up, too," Harry said. "I'm going to pretend I can take a nap." He went over to the common room and collapsed on a couch, pulling a throw over himself and lighting a fire. "Y'need to make the throws thicker," he sighed. "It's so cold down here, I hate it."

Snape waved his wand and the throw thickened into a full on comforter. "Better?"

"No, now I feel like I'm in bed," Harry protested.

Snape groaned. "What was that about not being a prat again?"

Harry bit the inside of his cheek. "Maybe you could just make it fleece instead of regular fabric, and lengthen it so it covers my feet."

"I fail to see why you cannot do this yourself," Snape replied, though he did as Harry requested. "Are we done?"

"Mhm," Harry sighed, snuggling into the couch. He closed his eyes but instead of seeing all the damage he caused, he was occupied by Snape, who had been so unexpectedly nice to him. In fact he couldn't remember a single instance when Snape had been difficult, rude or even anything other than amicable. Snape had been right, Harry was the one causing any strife between them. He felt guilty but, at the same time, he was eighteen and Snape was—was—well, older than that. He supposed that was some sort of excuse.

But still, with all of his 'whine and be a prat' moments, Snape still put up with him. That was interesting. He had spent the entirety of Harry's years at Hogwarts humiliating him, berating him, making his life awful, and now suddenly everything was—well, maybe not fine, but good. Quite good. Especially lately.

"Snape, what're you doing with me?" There was silence, and Harry realized that was a very odd question. "I mean, you're nice to me now, at least down here. And inviting me to live with you? It sort of seems like you care about me."

Harry's hearing had improved even as a human, and he heard Snape settle on the other couch. "There is no point in needless bickering when we are forced to work together. I invited you to live with me out of convenience."

Harry's heart dropped. This was stupid. He'd never had a proper guardian, or adult friend, or confidant, or whatever you wanted to call it, before, and there was no reason to expect one now, least of all from Severus Snape.

"Sorry, never mind," he muttered. "Guess I'm just tired."

"Very well then," Snape said. "Carry on with your pretend napping."

It almost wouldn't be odd, in a way. Snape had looked out for him in a backwards way, even if Dumbledore had forced him into it. He knew his dad, and his friends. He loved Lily.

Then again, it didn't matter, because Snape hated him.

Merlin, this was stupid. Terribly stupid. Stupid and _desperate_. Was he really so needy that he latched on to anyone close by? Exhaustively pathetic.

Then _again_, Snape was being nice to him.

Sort of. Sometimes.

Then _again, again_, and this was the real point, Harry was being pathetic.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** I almost forgot today was a publishing day! But then I didn't so everything was okay.

…fascinating story, I know. Somehow I'm just not getting decent A/N muses for this story. I feel like usually I'm clever, or at least not obnoxious, but something about this guy and my brain, we're just not…not working out.

Anyway, I do want to say one thing: you guys are all amazing. Every review brings light and joy into my life. This story was an experiment for me, and publishing it super scary, but you make it so worth it. I love you! And, of course, enjoy!

**Chapter Eight**

**25**

Harry didn't transform until the first day of April. Any relationship he'd had with Snape was utterly gone. The longer between changes the more irritable Snape became, and in this stretch he was nearly impossible. The promise of a concentrated, freshly brewed potion just sitting there waiting was proving to be too much.

Harry was less concerned. Studying for the N.E.W.T.s he wouldn't need was taking up his entire life, especially since he was missing the Gryffindor study sessions. He'd always studied with his friends, especially before big exams. Snape was obstinately unhelpful, refusing to help even with his own subject, even though if this hadn't happened Harry could have gone to him for help. Not that he would have, but that wasn't the point. The point was that he was being difficult and irritable and they were both snapping at each other and, slowly but surely, escalating back to full-on shouting matches.

Harry was muttering angrily to himself as he poured over his potions textbook. He had learned loads when he and Snape were brewing all the time but now that they were just sitting around waiting Harry was entirely lost. Of course Snape refused to help with that as well, and that was the cause of most of their fights. Harry had even thrown a quill at him once, causing twenty points to be taken from Gryffindor and a tirade from Snape about how he couldn't give Harry a proper detention since they already spent all their time together, at which point Harry yelled that there was no bloody chance he was moving to Spinner's End and, in fact, he would disappear entirely and Snape would never be able to find him ever again.

But now Harry was working on potions, and there was no point in replaying their old arguments.

And then he wasn't anymore, he was changing, and he just barely managed to stumble away from the common room before flattening it entirely. He screamed and hissed in agony but even then, even when the pain was at its worst, he was excited. Finally, _finally_.

"Give me the potion," he hissed the moment he was able to. His eyes were squeezed shut but he was flicking his tongue in anticipation. He generally tried not to do that, it amplified all the dank, disgusting smells of the Chamber, but he couldn't help himself.

"Open your mouth," Snape said, and yes, he sounded just as excited as Harry. The potion still tasted of raspberry scones, only scones times a million, and it was sickeningly sweet.

"That's disgusting," Harry hissed.

"I don't know what you said and I couldn't care less," Snape said. The first contractions he'd used in a month. "Open your eyes."

Harry was suddenly tentative. "What if—"

"_No_," Snape interrupted. "Open your bloody eyes or fifty points from Gryffindor."

"Fine, but if you die, I'm not taking responsibility."

"Open your eyes."

Harry did. He looked at Snape and Snape looked back. He didn't turn to stone. Harry laughed, though it came out as a series of choked hisses. "Have I told you you're brilliant recently?"

"Quite the opposite," Snape replied, though there was no anger in his voice.

"So how are we doing this?" Harry asked. "Can I dictate my potions essay to you? Parseltongue lessons? Chess? A staring match? I really need to do my essay."

"Then we shall do that," Snape said, settling back into his contractions. "You were writing about the ethics of Felix Felicis. A rather amusing topic, given your proclivity for breaking the rules. Why would you be stuck on such a devastatingly easy subject? When I was Potions Master this would never be assigned in seventh year. Your knowledge is pathetic."

Harry slammed his tail into the wall. "Are you going to take down what I say or lecture me?"

"Five points from Gryffindor," Snape said. "Go on. I will write for you, but I will not help in any way."

"It's subjective, there isn't a 'right' or 'wrong' answer," Harry hissed.

"I don't know that second word, but if you are implying you cannot fail, I assure you that you are more than capable of such a task," Snape replied. "You are on history. History is fixed in time, at least in regard to the use of Felix Felicis in Ministry proceedings."

"Yeah, I'd gotten that," Harry said. "I need my history and potions books."

"I hate this," Snape replied angrily, going through the mess on the coffee table before bringing them over to Harry, who had once again settled just in front of the fireplace. "Doing your biding while you relax in the glow of the fire."

"I'm still freezing," Harry snapped. "And I'm hardly relaxing. This is my fourth paper of the night and I've been stuck for the past hour, all the while you just sitting there, knowing the answer, refusing to help. Some friend you are."

"Stop sulking," Snape said. "Use your brain, just for once. The answer is obvious. If there is no information on the subject, what can you infer?"

Harry could've smacked himself. "Nobody's tried it before."

"You're brilliant," Snape said dryly. "And why would there be no information on something so obvious?"

"Because it's so obvious," Harry answered. "Nobody's bothered trying or if they have, their attempts were so inane it wasn't worth recording."

"Very good."

So apparently Snape's mood had improved. He was helping, in his own way. Harry finished dictating his essay, feeling very clever as he cited Fred and George's attempt to cheat the age line, and how nobody had cared beyond a quick laugh. Then the essay was over and he felt brilliant.

"What time is it?" Harry asked. "How long have we been doing this?"

"Nearly three," Snape replied, and that was genuine excitement in his voice. "You changed at one-thirty. We are currently at an hour and fifteen minutes."

Harry wrapped his tail around and rested the tip on Snape's lap. "Thank you," he sighed.

Snape put a hand on his tail. "Finally. Though it is still quite early. I could die at any moment."

"Please don't say that," Harry said. "Put it out of your mind, that's what you told me."

Snape squeezed Harry's tail reassuringly. This certainly _had_ put him in a better mood. "I will have time," he said. "If my hair begins to turn to stone we will stop."

They sat in silence for a few moments before Harry asked, "Can you put the heat lamp back up?"

Snape frowned. "Was that heat lamp?"

"Yeah."

Snape conjured it, and Harry sighed again. "This is downright peaceful."

"Keep your eyes open," Snape demanded. "You are relaxing. I know full well snakes do not need to blink. I'm serious Potter, don't even blink. We are testing the longevity of the potion, and it will do us no good if you do not maintain eye contact."

"You let me look at my books," Harry muttered. "But fine. I won't take my eyes off you." Another silence, this one much less comfortable. "Well?" Harry asked eventually. "What are we going to do for the rest of the night? Chess?"

"I am not in the mood," Snape said, and then he smiled slightly. "I find myself too agitated to focus on such banalities."

"We haven't gotten along in weeks, I don't remember what we do," Harry said. "And really, Snape, it's not fair of you to blame me for not changing. You _know_ I don't have control over it."

Snape frowned. "I missed a word."

"Which?"

Snape huffed. "If I knew I would not have to ask. Just before you told me it was not fair to blame you."

Harry though, and then his eyes widened. "Snape? Have I never said that before?"

"Whatever you said, yes, that."

Harry suddenly felt very bad for reasons he couldn't explain. "Severus Snape," he hissed slowly. "You."

"Oh," Snape replied. "Again. I should know my own name."

"Severus Snape," Harry said once again, and Snape copied him perfectly. "You've gotten loads better."

"And yours?" Snape asked.

"My what? Ability to speak Parseltongue? Voldemort passed it on to me, you know that."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Your name, Potter. How do I address you?"

"Harry Potter," he said.

"Harry Potter," Snape repeated in Parseltongue. "Rypotter?"

Harry chuckled. "Harry," he said slowly, with a long pause. "Potter."

"Potter," Snape tried.

"Brilliant," Harry said. Then he paused again. "You should call me by my first name, I guess. Especially if we're going to live together." He paused again. "Is that still on? I don't remember which of us went on about not, probably both—"

"You," Snape interrupted.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Whatever. In any case, as long as we're down here or at your place, Harry is fine." He was a lot more worked up over this than he should have been, but he couldn't help his stomach from churning.

"Harry," Snape said, still in Parseltongue. "I don't believe I have ever called you that before."

"Well don't if you don't want to," Harry said irritably. "Aside from this past month or so we'd been getting along much better, and, y'know, we're going to be living together. But fine, whatever you want, _Snape_."

"I meant no offense," Snape replied, and Harry wondered if he was even aware he was still speaking in Parseltongue. "I was merely remarking that it would be a change."

"Forget it," Harry hissed. "You're a—a—" He struggled for an insult Snape wouldn't know. "—shriveled old ball sack." Then he laughed, which didn't really help.

"Shriveled what now?"

Harry froze. Right, he knew that from talking about shriveled figs. "Not important," Harry muttered. "Forget it."

"This is all for you," Snape said. "The potion, living at Spinner's End, living in the Chamber now, it is all for you. So if you desire to be called Harry, so be it."

Harry continued to stay still. It always kept coming back to this. "You've done a lot for me," he said carefully.

Snape groaned. "Again?" he said. "We must go through this again?"

Harry swished his tail, forgetting it was on Snape's lap, who jumped beneath him and let out an undignified _oof_ as Harry hit him in the stomach. "Sorry," he said, embarrassed. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Snape said dryly. "I would, however, ask you to refrain from doing that again."

"Sorry," Harry repeated. He considered removing his tail from Snape's lap, but the physical contact was so nice—studying for N.E.W.T.s hardly left time to snuggle with Hermione, even if that was still okay, which he didn't know—and he couldn't bear to give it up, not unless Snape made him.

Snape tapped a finger on his tail. "We have been so wrapped up with your eyes I had forgotten your strength and your poison."

"Eyes, strength, poison, impenetrable skin, nearly indefinite lifespan, all that, gotta love it," Harry said sarcastically.

"I missed that. If you were listing your symptoms, I needn't be reminded when your tail did it for me," Snape replied. "Back to your original point—your original one, not the tired nonsense regarding my motivations—I would not be opposed to using your given name. Outside of the classroom, of course."

"Course," Harry replied, shocked. "Whatever."

Snape checked the clock. "Three-thirty." He yawned. "I find myself torn between going to sleep and continuing our experiment."

"Sleep," Harry said. "You're always telling me to go to bed; follow your own advice. Oh, and congratulations."

"For the potion?"

"That, too," Harry said, "but I was talking about the fact that you've been speaking Parseltongue."

Snape was obviously surprised, and Harry would have smiled were he not a snake. "I had failed to notice," he said. "I'm just full of surprises tonight."

"Go for a third and listen to me," Harry said. "Go to bed."

"Has your need for physical contact been sated?" he asked, and Harry glanced away.

"You do enough for me," Harry said. "I don't need my hand—or my tail—held. I'm fine."

"You are truly awful at hiding your emotions from me," Snape said. "This past month I may have been difficult, but you have been just as bad, and you have not left early nor returned late once. You have also slipped back into whining over loneliness at least once a day. The conclusion that you have not been able to lean on your friends is not a leap. You think I enjoy having a Basilisk tail on my lap? You're heavy and scaly and hit me."

Harry was shocked into silence. He literally had no idea what to say. "I—" he started. "Um. Thanks, I suppose. You don't have to worry about it. I'm an experiment, an excuse to invent new potions. You aren't responsible for my emotional wellbeing."

"Perhaps not, but keeping you happy results in far fewer fights between us, as well as fewer nights when I am kept awake by your rather loud hysterics," Snape said.

Of course. Of course he didn't actually care. Harry didn't know why he needed to continually relearn this lesson, but that little spark of hope wouldn't go away. He flicked his tail off Snape's lap, curling himself in front of the fire. "Just go to sleep," he said bitterly.

Snape rose and padded across the carpet. Harry was facing the fireplace, focused entirely on the warm flames dancing in front of him, and nearly struck out when he felt a hand on his side.

"I did not enjoy it, but I did not leave, or demand that you stop," Snape said. "The past month has been very difficult for both of us, and your year is only going to get harder. If you require physicality to continue on, I will not refuse you."

Harry was once again at a loss for words. Snape's hand was warm, and he realized he had never been touched in this form, not beyond the very tip of his tail. It felt strange, very different from regular touching. He hadn't been this aware of his scales since he first changed.

"Okay," Harry said eventually.

Snape's hand dropped away. "I will see you in the morning."

"Yeah," Harry said vaguely. "Have a good sleep. Sorry I kept you up."

"Of all the reasons to stay up, watching a potion of my own device succeed is perhaps the best," Snape replied. At some point he had slipped into English, but he switched back to Parseltongue. "I am sorry I cannot help more. Try to get some sleep, Harry. You need it."

"Right."

Receding footsteps, the swish of Snape's curtain, and then silence.

Harry didn't sleep for quite some time.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** My dad is home today, and now he's on vacation for two weeks. This is just about the best thing ever, especially given that I had a bizarre dream last night where I saved the day and then everyone hated me because I did it wrong.

Hopefully lots of you are on vacation now as well, or holiday if you're in the UK, and can bask in the wonderfulness of not having things to do!

Posting will continue as scheduled throughout the holidays, with one exception: On **Christmas Day** I'll be posting a **new Harry/Draco** Christmas story. I'm not sure if the audience for this story overlaps at all with the audience for my previous HPDM stories, but I thought I'd let you know anyway!

Enjoy!

**Chapter Nine**

**26**

April was insanely busy. Harry was studying for his N.E.W.T.s which were suddenly just around the corner. When he wasn't studying he was helping Snape brew a reserve of the potion, learning to brew Pepper Up, and, as a Basilisk, sulking in front of the fireplace wishing he could be more useful.

Snape was just as occupied. For the first time Harry saw him grading papers outside the confines of his room or, on quiet days, in class, somehow managing to brew and grade at the same time. He no longer arrived in the Chamber by exactly eight; he was tutoring, which, he angrily told Harry, was written into his contract and unavoidable. These nights he would be extraordinarily irritable, sometimes not arriving until after midnight, and Harry learned to stay out of his way until he calmed down.

On the other hand, after seven months of living together, they had finally learned how to cohabitate. It amounted to staying out of Snape's way and letting him instigate any and all contact. Harry would avoid Snape when he was at his worst, he no longer felt the need to antagonize his professor, or push for any answers, explanations, or time spent together. If Snape wanted to play chess, he would initiate it. If they had free time and were just relaxing on the couch, he left any conversation to Snape. The key was to not push the man, to let him do what pleased him, regardless of any ill effects on Harry.

Harry continued to change, and continued to use the potion. At first it was as nerve-wracking as the first success, but as time moved on the worry wore off. The effects of the potion lasted through the entirety of his transformation, though they had yet to figure out a delivery mechanism better than Snape pouring the contents into his mouth. The danger turned to an annoyance, and caused Harry panic only because he couldn't do his homework properly. He had tried using a Quick-Quotes Quill but it didn't take well to Parseltongue and, after a few attempts at deciphering his hisses it exploded, ink flying everywhere.

Neither of them had the time or energy to begin work on the next potion. Harry mentioned once that having control over his changes might be helpful, and Snape had agreed before reeling off a list of his obligations and informing Harry if he had the time, he was more than welcome to get started.

There were only two sparks of hope in his life—there had been no attacks since the Hufflepuffs, and the mandrake parties were getting louder and crazier. Neville was sure they'd be moving into each other's pots no later than mid-May. Harry didn't like having to rely on Snape to feed him the potion, but the elation at being safe more than made up for it. He even began leaving the Chamber under the guise of study breaks. He confined himself to the pipes, but having freedom again, even if he was stuck behind the walls, was something he thanked Merlin for every transformation.

Harry lasted until the first Tuesday of the third week of May before having a breakdown. He managed to hold off until he was in the Chamber before collapsing on his couch, huge sobs wracking through him. There was no way he could keep up with his work. He couldn't study with his friends. He was going to fail his N.E.W.T.s. During dinner Hermione had been going on and on about how she was so excited they'd be working at the Ministry together, though in different departments, and Harry had finally snapped, yelling that he'd be working with Snape instead of pursuing a career as an Auror. There was a moment of dead silence before the predicted outburst. Hermione couldn't believe he was letting his talents go to waste and Ron couldn't believe he was willingly working with Snape. Only Neville, who was still in charge of the mandrakes, seemed to come close to understanding.

The study session that night was very tense indeed.

Harry was halfway through his Defense paper when the second breakdown came. He threw his book across the room before dissolving into tears. It was too much, too fucking _much_. Snape was absent despite it being nearly ten and it had been ages since Harry had felt this lonely. He curled himself into a ball as he cried, trying to ignore the unfriendly echoes of his sobs bouncing off the stone walls.

He hadn't noticed Snape's arrival until a flask of calming draught was shoved into his face. He didn't bother fighting it, just took a deep gulp. Probably more than the recommended dose, but he couldn't bring himself to care. His tears slowly stopped until he was just sniffling unhappily, at which point Snape handed him a box of tissues. Arms heavy—definitely too much calming draught, then—he cleaned his face and finally rolled over so he was facing Snape, who was sitting on the floor in front of him.

"Thanks," Harry said, voice croaky from crying.

"Was there an incident that triggered this outburst?" Snape asked.

Harry shook his head mournfully. "N.E.W.T.s. Loneliness. I can't study with my friends, not really, and also I told them I was going to be working with you instead of at the Ministry, and I'm not sure Hermione's still speaking to me, and—"

"Stop," Snape interrupted. "I have been keeping an eye on your marks, and you are as prepared for the N.E.W.T.s as can be expected. If I thought you were truly falling behind, I would have taken action. You may not have a study group, but your individual studies have been perfectly adequate. Your friends will adjust to your chosen career path; they are just as stubborn and difficult as you, but Gryffindor loyalty always comes out in the end. If they have not left you by now, I find it difficult to believe something as insignificant as a potion apprenticeship will force them away."

Harry blew into a tissue, feeling very undignified. "I suppose."

"Once the school year is over and we move to Spinner's End, we will have ample time to work on a potion to control your transformations," Snape said. "Once you can control yourself, you can fully resume your social life. In the meantime, however busy we both are, I assume my presence is better than nothing."

"I suppose," Harry repeated. "Well, no, I don't really suppose. We hardly speak, we haven't had a go at chess in ages, and now that the potion is perfected, all the preparations I do I can handle on my own. Did you see the pile of cherry pits I left for you? I skipped lunch to do that."

Snape nodded. "I did. Do not skip any further meals. No doubt this disintegration of yours was only made worse by a lack of nutrients."

"Fine," Harry sighed. "I need to finish my Defense essay. _Accio_ Defense book." It flew across the room into his hands, and Snape promptly took it from him.

"You are clearly in need of a break," he said. "You cannot write a decent essay when you are this upset, let alone with the addition of the calming draught. Do whatever you wish with your night off."

"I can't have a night off," Harry said irritably. "That paper is due tomorrow. I'm not interested in getting points docked for handing it in late, _Professor_."

Snape glanced over Harry's essay. "You may be a foot short, but this is adequate."

"Then I've got Charms—"

"No," Snape said, interrupting again. "You are going to stay exactly where you are, collapsed on the couch, until you go to bed."

"I can't," Harry repeated. "Really, I need to…" He trailed off as Snape covered him with the throw, surprised into silence.

"Relax," Snape said, not unkindly. More than that, almost actively kindly.

"And you?" Harry asked accusingly. "Are you going to take a break?"

"Of course not," Snape replied. "I am not in tears over a simple essay. However, I have fallen behind on grading, and will not be brewing tonight."

"Great," Harry said hollowly.

Snape left, and Harry assumed he'd be spending the rest of the night alone. Instead Snape returned and sat next to him on the couch with a stack of papers and his red quill. Harry craned his neck to look at him.

"What're you doing?"

"You said you were lonely," Snape replied.

"Um, okay," Harry said intelligently. He curled back up, once again closing his eyes. Maybe he could take a quick nap and get back to studying. He tried to remember how much calming draught he had taken, but he wasn't sure how "a big gulp" translated to a proper dosage. The effect still hadn't completely hit, and as the potion took a deeper hold he uncurled, no longer having the energy to keep himself so tense. His feet hit the arm of the couch and, before he realized what was happening, his head was pressed against Snape's leg.

"Don't jostle me," Snape said. "You made me cross out the only sentence not entirely incorrect."

"Sorry," Harry muttered. This was the only physical contact he'd had in weeks, and he hated himself for asking, "Do you want me to move?"

"The decision is yours, as long as you are careful and do not slam yourself into me," Snape replied.

"I didn't—" Harry cut himself off. Arguing wouldn't help anything.

The problem was that while it was nice to be touching someone, having his head squished up against Snape wasn't very comfortable. He was squeezed between the man and the arm of the couch, and he wasn't willing to sacrifice either the contact or hanging his legs off the edge of the couch, depriving himself of the warmth of the blanket as well as potentially unbalancing and falling off entirely.

So, slowly and carefully, he rearranged himself so his head was resting entirely on Snape's lap. He was extraordinarily tense, waiting to be kicked off at any moment, and the anxiety was arguably worse than the physical discomfort.

"How do you expect me to grade papers like this, Potter?"

"I dunno," Harry said quietly. "I'll stop."

"I assume you would not make such a brash move if it was not absolutely necessary," Snape replied. "I will manage."

"Thanks," Harry said, voice dropping even further. Time stretched on like taffy, Harry's exhaustion and panic only just managed by the draught combined to prevent sleep but also left him unable to fully wake up. The crackling of the fire and the scratch of Snape's quill were comforting and almost unheard. Harry let himself drift. Not thinking was his new favorite thing.

At some point the scratching of the quill stopped, and there was a flurry of moving papers as Snape sent them back to his room.

"Done?" Harry asked sleepily.

"Indeed," Snape replied. "It is nearly two in the morning, I would hope my workload finished."

Harry sighed quietly. "I'll get up, then."

He started to move but Snape pushed him down, and left his hand on his shoulder. "Unnecessary. You were asleep. I do not wish to disturb you."

Harry had a very hard time processing his words. "I wasn't asleep," he said.

"No? Then why, when I asked if you were, did you not reply?"

Harry had to think very hard. "I—uh."

"Sleep. You need it."

"And you?" Harry asked. "Don't you need to sleep? Aren't you uncomfortable?"

"I am fine," Snape said. His hand was still on Harry's shoulder, providing a comforting weight. "Go back to sleep, Harry."

He wasn't going to argue; he was too tired and too comfortable. "If you're sure."

"I would not say I was if I were not."

"Okay," he said, still a bit baffled. "Sleep well. Move me if you need to." He thought Snape might have replied, but he was too tired to hear properly and before he could ask him to repeat it, Harry was asleep.

**27**

Harry woke up warm and comfortable. He was on the couch, which shouldn't have been as comfortable as his bed, but he was calm and relaxed. He didn't think it was the calming draught, which would have worn off by now. Actually, he should be depressed.

Instead he moved closer to the warmth, snuggling further against it. Against _him_, Harry remembered. He had fallen asleep on Snape's lap. That was why he was feeling so good? Apparently so. Snape had a hand on his shoulder and was, as far as Harry could tell, still asleep.

The last thing Harry wanted to do, and the only thing he could do, was his Defense essay. He gave himself one last moment before sitting up and pulling his essay over. He was about to start writing when it occurred to him he should probably check the time.

He nearly had a heart attack. His first class had started ten minutes ago. His first class was Defense. His Defense professor was lying on the couch, fast asleep. This was not a promising start to his day.

"Snape," he said quietly. "Snape, we're late." Snape grumbled in his sleep. Harry gently shook his shoulder. "Wake up."

Snape groaned again and cracked his eyes open. "What?"

"Class started ten minutes ago," Harry said, prepared for an explosion.

He was not disappointed. Snape burst into curses as slammed into his room, emerging a few minutes later with a bag full of paper, Harry just barely managing to get his things together before following Snape out of the Chamber and down the hall to the classroom.

"Wait in the hall," Snape instructed. "I am not going in with you."

"Fine."

Harry wasn't expecting to get points docked for being late because Snape ordered him to be, but the twenty points docked from Gryffindor proved him wrong. He sulked through the rest of the class, shooting Snape a glare as he left with Ron and Hermione. Everyone knew they were working on a potion together, it wouldn't have been strange for them to walk in together late. All that he would have to do is say they were working late on a cure and he'd be a hero. Then again, Snape absolutely refused to be seen as such, no matter how noble he was.

It was starting to get on Harry's nerves.

Then again, so were most things. His brief reprise from near insurmountable anxiety lessened with each class, and by the time he was in Gryffindor Tower for a few hours of studying between class and dinner, he was an utter wreck. Then again, so was everyone else, and any anger or resentment towards Harry was far overshadowed by the fact that N.E.W.T.s were only a few weeks away. Hermione was especially stressed, as she was taking the most classes. Neville was in the greenhouse, as he had been for the past week. He kept trying to catch the mandrakes moving from one pot to another, but all that happened was that he was caught in the middle of parties and would arrive in the shower covered in dirt and streamers made of vines, clogging the drains.

They grabbed a quick dinner before returning to the Tower. Harry left at eight, as always, and walked down to the Chamber with some trepidation. Would Snape blame him for oversleeping? Probably. Would he be upset at Harry for falling asleep on him? Quite possibly. Would Harry be resigned to chopping duties for the rest of the night, despite his mountain of homework? Almost certainly.

But none of those things were true. Snape let him study until he was done at one in the morning, at which point Harry offered to help. He chopped for another hour, until Snape sent him to bed. Harry changed into his pajamas, and stuck his head out of his curtain.

"Are you sure you don't need more help?"

"I would not be opposed to an extra set of hands, but you require sleep more than I require cherry pits," Snape said. "We have a decent supply of potion built up. I do not like the idea of running out before the end of the school year, but I am even less pleased with the idea of you failing your N.E.W.T.s."

"If you're sure."

"Quite. Now leave me alone, I'm concentrating."

Of course he was. "G'night, Snape."

**28**

The week before N.E.W.T.s Snape broke down and helped Harry study. He refused to give him any actual answers, but he told him when he was wrong, and helped Harry arrive at the right answer on his own. Snape stopped brewing entirely and did nothing other than grade papers and help Harry.

The night before his first N.E.W.T. Harry transformed. He threw a tantrum, repeatedly slamming himself into the wall until Snape threw a book at him, reminding him that he could still read. It hardly mattered; Harry was much too nervous to actually focus on the book, at which point Snape took it back and began quizzing him.

The two weeks of N.E.W.T.s continued the same way. Harry would study by himself until he changed, which was most of the time, and then Snape would quiz him until he turned back, and then demand he go to bed. At first Harry protested the imposed bedtime, but after a few days he was much too tired to argue.

There was a half a week gap between the end of testing and graduation. The mandrakes finally matured halfway through N.E.W.T.s, leaving the rest to Slughorn. The added strain on top of the N.E.W.T.s was almost too much, and on the second to last day of testing Neville had a breakdown and needed to be escorted to the infirmary, where he spent several hours eating chocolate and drinking calming draught.

The first day after N.E.W.T.s Slughorn completed the potion. Harry felt like he was going to throw up as he waited with Neville, Ron, Hermione and Professors Slughorn and McGonagall to make sure the potion worked.

It did. Neville actually fainted, and the rest of them were shooed out until it explained to the petrified what happened, the current day, and a brief explanation of what had happened during the year. The three friends waited outside and, when Hagrid emerged, they swarmed him. Harry wasn't the only one crying, but he was the one who had to leave quite suddenly at eight to go down to the Chamber.

The last days before graduation Harry spent as much time as possible with his friends, haunting their favorite places. The Gryffindor common room, Hagrid's hut, even the library and, once, the Astronomy Tower. Harry hadn't been so upset to return to the Chamber since he first realized he had to, and Snape had him on constant cherry halving, finely chopping leaves and milking the Inland Taipan duty to distract him.

Graduation started out much more depressing than Harry expected. The ceremony itself was fine, but the celebration after was not an enjoyable affair. All of his friends had their families, leaving him alone on his final day at Hogwarts. Harry stayed by the buffet, picking dejectedly at the cheese and crackers. Professor McGonagall came over to congratulate him, as well as Hagrid and the Weasleys, but Harry spent most of his time running over the list of people who should have been there with him. Dumbledore, Sirius, Remus, his parents.

Just as he was about to slink off to somewhere he could be alone, Snape approached him.

Harry sighed. "What do you want?"

"You have performed magnificently this year," Snape said with only a hint of discomfort. "You went above and beyond anything that could have been expected from you, yet again. I—" He stammered as Harry stared at him. "You have a lot to be proud of," he said. He glanced around quickly. "You are not supposed to know until the letters go out, but you did very well on your N.E.W.T.s as well."

"Thank you," Harry said, shocked.

"I will meet you at Platform 9 3/4 and we will apparate to Spinner's End together," he said. "It will be too late to go to Grimmauld Place today, but we may go as soon as you wish."

"Okay," Harry replied.

"How—how are you?" Snape asked, sounding uncomfortable.

"Er, okay, I guess," Harry said. "I mean. Well. This is my last day here. All my friends have their families. But, y'know. Fine."

"Again, I was waiting to tell you, but if we have not discovered a cure by the start of the new school year, you will be joining me here, continuing to be my apprentice," Snape said. "I have already spoken to Minerva, and she is in favor of the idea."

Harry blinked. "Oh. Um, thanks."

"And…" He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "I know I am not a proper substitute for a family, but—I am here."

Harry stared blankly at him. "Yeah, right. Um, thanks." He paused. "Really, thank you, for everything this year. And now."

"Yes, well," Snape said. And then, very awkwardly, he pulled Harry into a half hug, one arm around his shoulder. "You are exceptional. Things will be okay."

Harry had to work to keep his jaw from dropping. "Thanks. You're pretty okay, too."

Snape flinched and pulled away. "Ever the conversationalist."

"Oh, come on," Harry said with a smile. "You hate being complimented. I was being nice."

"You are very difficult, Potter," Snape said with a sigh. "I have some last minute business to attend to. I will see you at King's Cross."

The last train ride was bittersweet. Harry, Ron and Hermione did their very best to act as though nothing was different, but there was a sad undertone to their conversation. They made plans for the summer, ignoring anything past the last day of August. Harry finally had the courage to tell them that he was going to be living at Spinner's End instead of Grimmauld Place, but both Ron and Hermione said they assumed as much, and chastised him for not saying anything sooner. As per tradition Harry bought them a huge pile of candy to share.

Harry came very close to disaster at King's Cross. They were saying goodbyes, prolonging actually leaving, giving extra hugs and repeated promises to write. The train ride had taken longer than Harry had realized, and combined with their extended farewells, it was nearly nine. Harry felt the first twinge of his change and panicked.

"I have to go," he stammered, backing up. "I love you guys, I promise to write, I'll see you at the Burrow next week." He ducked behind the brick column labeled Platform Ten and looked around desperately for Snape. He said he was going to be here, he had to be somewhere, Snape was a very punctual person, he wouldn't leave Harry waiting, not knowing the risk. Another twinge around his midsection, which started to lengthen. He was biting his cheek in agony and terror, keeping himself from outright screaming. He had a vial of the potion for his eyes in his pocket, but he was too busy panicking to remember to use it.

Then his arm was grabbed and he was compressed into apparation while changing, and that was the worst thing he had ever felt. He slammed onto the ground screaming and hissing and thrashing. After what seemed like years his body relaxed, eyes clamped shut.

"I didn't have time to take the potion," he gasped. "There's a vial in the pocket of my jeans."

Snape fetched it and fed it to Harry. "Are you okay?" Snape asked. "Apparating while you changed is perhaps the stupidest thing I have ever done, but you hardly gave me a choice."

Harry glared at him. "I hardly gave _myself_ a choice," he hissed. "You _know_ I can't control it. You think I liked nearly killing the entirety of King's Cross? You think I didn't spend the whole time apparating wondering if I was going to leave my tail behind, or if you'd lose your grip and drop me entirely?"

"Killing the entirety of what?" Snape asked.

"I'm not in the mood for a lesson," Harry snapped. "Where are we?"

"My basement, where do you think?" Snape said, irritated.

Harry looked around. Now that it was told to him, it was obvious. The floor, walls and ceiling were stone, there was a potions bench along one wall, a giant apothecary chest next to it, and walls and walls of bookcases. How he managed to avoid destroying something he'd never know.

"Can you make sure I'm not splinched?" Harry asked.

"You'd know if you were," Snape replied.

Harry sighed. Now that he was safe, he found he was trembling with adrenaline. "We should have planned that better," he said. "That was way too close."

"Agreed," Snape said. "Also irrelevant. It is over and done with."

Harry's heart fell as he looked around. This room was much, much smaller than the Chamber. There wouldn't be space for a common room, so to speak, or a bedroom, and he could barely move. He was still shaking, he missed his friends and Hogwarts already—he actually had been for the past few days, even while he was still there—and now he was crammed in here.

Then, in a moment of intense gratitude, he remembered that Snape had opened his home to him, however cramped the basement was. He had spent the entirety of the year brewing a potion to help him. They were friends, almost. And he had been uncharacteristically kind to him a few hours earlier at graduation. It wasn't Snape's fault if he didn't have a basement large enough to accommodate a fifty-foot deadly snake. He curled himself up as if he wanted to rather than because there wasn't room for him to stretch out.

"This is good," he said, keeping his hisses optimistic. "It could use a heat lamp."

Snape had to stifle a smile. "This is my potions lab, Harry, not where you will be staying. Through that arch is your—your snake room, I suppose. Your human room is upstairs."

"Oh," Harry said, feeling dim. "Right."

He slithered into the other room and relaxed. The room was huge, more than capable of holding him. The ceiling was radiating heat, as was a large fireplace on one wall. The living room setup in front of the fireplace was identical to that in the Chamber, with the exception of the floating window. Instead the entirety of one of the walls was a huge picture window, looking out on a scene Harry recognized from Snape's memories. The tree at the side of the lake where he had shown Lily how he could turn leaves into birds, only instead of bright and sunny it was raining, and enchanted well enough that Harry could hear the tapping of the drops on the window.

"Snape, this is brilliant. Thank you so much."

"Hopefully you will not be needing it for long," Snape said. "I have been doing research, and I have a good idea of where to start on the potion that will let you control your changes."

Harry swished his tail over Snape's feet. "Thank you," he repeated.

"We will begin brewing tomorrow," Snape said. "I am exhausted; I have not gotten a full night's sleep in months. If you wake before me, you are welcome to acquaint yourself with my home. My secrets guard themselves."

"Sleep well," Harry said, curling in front of the fireplace.

"And yourself."

Harry's first night at Spinner's End was as good as it could be, and maybe even a bit better than that.

**29**

Harry was woken up by his change at the unfortunately early hour of four. He curled up on one of the couches and dozed for another hour before giving up on more sleep. Feeling very much like an intruder Harry left his room and started his exploration.

Nothing was surprising. The potions lab was nicer than the one at Hogwarts, which was the most exciting thing he saw. The first floor had a kitchen, a dining room, a living room and a door that wouldn't open. He didn't want to go upstairs lest he wake Snape so he settled in the kitchen, scrambling eggs, feeling like he was stealing the whole time. He washed the dishes and put them back as soon as he was done, trying to make as small an impact as possible.

He went back down to the basement and settled on one of the couches. He knew Snape had brought his luggage over the day before but had no idea where it was. He didn't think he'd know what to do even if he had his things. Last summer had been filled with summer reading, hanging out at the Burrow, and spending a great deal of time trying to come to terms with the war.

But now? Now he had no idea. Harry supposed a part of him had still been expecting a proper job at the Ministry, but it finally sunk in that wasn't going to happen. Not only was it not going to happen, but the job he didn't have wouldn't even take up his time. So he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling.

It wasn't very interesting.

Snape came down an hour later and sat on the other couch. "Did you just wake?"

"No, I've been up since five," Harry said. "I made eggs, I hope that's okay. I cleaned all the dishes and put them back."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You are living here, Harry. You are welcome to eat."

Harry flushed. When put that way, it seemed obvious. "I would have made some for you, but I didn't know when you'd be up, or how you like your eggs."

Snape frowned. "Is this a product of your life with the Dursleys?"

Harry stared back, just as confused. "Is what?"

"I have opened my house to you," Snape said. "You live here. You are allowed to eat, to leave the basement, to occupy yourself beyond staring at my ceiling. In fact, as my apprentice, it would behoove you to familiarize yourself with my potions library. Have you at least arranged your room to your liking?"

"I didn't want to wake you up," Harry said, feeling a little foolish. "I stayed downstairs."

"Come then," Snape said, leaving no room for discussion. Harry nearly fell off the couch in his haste to follow him. He was led upstairs and halfway down the hallway to a room on the left. Snape stood just outside the door. "Go ahead."

Harry tentatively opened the door and gasped. It was like stepping into the Gryffindor dorms. The bed was decked out in red and gold, the furniture nearly identical, his trunk at the foot of his bed. "Snape, I—"

"There is nothing to say," he interrupted. "I won't have you moping about all summer in a house that feels as foreign to you as the Chamber of Secrets. You may do anything you like, but I thought I would give you a start."

Harry couldn't do more than stare blankly at the room. This was a side of Snape that he had only glimpsed, and only when he was at his absolute lowest and needed to be cheered up. Doing something like this of his own volition, purely to be nice—that was unheard of. He wondered what Ron or Neville would think if they saw this. He wondered what his _father_ would have thought. Would he be happy "Snivellus" was treating his son so well, or would he still hold a grudge?

"May we continue on, or are you going to stand there gawping for the rest of the day?"

That was much more familiar. "I can—I'm good, we can—what are we doing?"

"I thought you would be eager to begin the potion to control your changes," Snape replied, leading them back to the basement. "Unless you require more time to settle in."

"I'm good," Harry repeated. "You said you had an idea of where to start?"

"Indeed. You shall read my research and familiarize yourself with the theory and ingredients," Snape said. "I should have had you do that with the other potion, but that is in the past. It is obscure, because the spells are meant for transfiguration and not potions, but there is information on curing human transfiguration. We will start there. Rather, I will start there, and you will study."

Of course he would. "Okay."

They were back in the potions lab, and Snape handed him a pile of books. "Read the marked passages."

Harry sighed a little. "Yeah, sure."

The familiar sound of Snape collecting ingredients, and then, "The first potion, the one for your eyes, it needs a name. We managed without but now that there are two, it is a requirement. I do not wish to be turned to stone due to a miscommunication."

Harry looked up from his book, grateful for the distraction. The book was written in Middle English, and he could barely read it. "Okay," he said.

"It is your potion, you may name it as you see fit."

Harry stared at him. "But you invented it. It should be up to you."

"I have invented a great many potions," Snape replied. "If you do not wish to, I am sure I can come up with something suitable."

"No, no, I will," Harry stammered. He considered. "Hermione taught me some Latin, and I'm not great, but maybe Oculos something?"

Snape nodded. "Oculos Ius has a ring to it."

Harry frowned. "Sorry, what's Ius?"

He could tell Snape was rolling his eyes, even with his back turned. "Elixir, Potter. I would expect you to know that."

"Sorry," Harry muttered, returning to his book.

After a few moments, Snape asked, "Well?"

Harry looked up again. "Well what?"

"Have we agreed upon Oculos Ius?"

"Yeah," Harry said, surprised. Snape was treating him as an equal, almost. "I mean, no one other than us will know about it, but I like it."

He could hear the smile in Snape's voice. "Very true. No less important, though. Now get back to reading."

Harry snorted quietly. Equals indeed.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Totally coincidental, but this chapter is really good for Christmas Eve. It has nothing to do with the holiday itself, but, well. You'll see.

I didn't want to say anything last Friday because I didn't think it was going to happen, but I'm actually going to be publishing _two_ Christmas stories tomorrow—a Harry/Draco AND a Harry/Severus. The first is much longer, more of a novella, and the second is a short story that I will almost certainly finish on time (hehe it's only Christmas Eve I've got plenty of time ahem).

Merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and a happy December 24th to the rest of you! And, as always, enjoy the chapter!

**Chapter Ten**

**30**

Harry's summer developed into an odd sort of routine. Once he finished researching he went back to prep work. At first he was excited that his work didn't involved finely mincing anything, but it turned out bezoar stone was even more difficult to deal with. Snape insisted on only fresh stones, which involved washing stomach acid off before he could begin the process of chopping, which involved something an awful lot like a miniature jackhammer, and behaved as such. It created a giant mess until Harry learned how to deal with it, by which time Snape was very short with him and inquired frequently whether or not Harry wanted to fetch the stones directly from the goats' stomachs himself.

Harry spent Saturdays at the Burrow, insisting that Snape required him to be up absurdly early and that was why he needed to leave by eight. Ron and Hermione would come over for dinner on Wednesdays, during which time Snape would conveniently disappear into his room. It was weird at first, but after a few weeks it was just as normal as the Burrow, or Hogwarts, especially when they discovered Harry's room, and how similar it was to the dorms. Harry didn't bother trying to convince them Snape had done it, and merely shrugged when questioned.

Being a Basilisk wasn't much better than at Hogwarts. He had no pipes to explore, just the basement room. He said nothing, not wanting to inconvenience Snape any further. For the most part he no longer felt guilty about taking up space at Spinner's End, but there was no way to get around the fact that being a giant, deadly snake was awkward.

The solution for how he was to ingest the potion by himself was so obvious and Harry and Snape so embarrassed that they spent the night separately so they wouldn't have to look at each other. Harry was flipping through one of Snape's old potions books, using his wand to turn the page, when it suddenly hit him—he could still use magic in his changed state. With a simple levitation charm he could feed himself.

With that problem taken care of, all their attention was focused on the new potion. When the first try was completed a new obvious problem presented itself, though the answer wasn't nearly as clear as _Wingardium Leviosa_. There was no way to tell why he wasn't changing: if it was due to the potion or the randomness of his transformations. The only thing Harry enjoyed about this—and he wasn't about to say anything—was that Snape now spent most of his nights in Harry's basement room, rather than the potions lab or his own room. Having the company was a welcome change; while they spent most meals together out of convenience and brewed together because Snape needed ingredients prepped, there was very little actual interaction.

Now they were stuck together again. Not surprisingly the first potion failed, but it gave them a week and a half before Harry changed. There was a lot of chess and a lot of awkward silences. Despite Harry's first impressions of the two rooms prepared for him and Snape's insistence that he was welcome, without the distraction of homework or papers to grade, they were back to square one in terms of their relationship.

After the first change it was back to work. There were bezoar stones to be jackhammered—Snape was convinced that was a key ingredient—Aconite root to be chopped, and a seemingly endless supply of ingredients that needed preparation.

The second potion was finished a month later. It caused Harry to change immediately, which Snape insisted was a good thing. It meant they only needed to reverse the potion, which seemed very difficult to Harry.

The scary part came when he didn't change back. Harry hadn't realized what happened until Snape came down the next morning and let out a litany of swears in Parseltongue. Harry woke up and started whipping around and hissing in panic. What if he was stuck like this forever? What then? Eventually a well-placed freezing charm stopped him, and a flask of calming draught was fed to him. Then another, and another, as it proved much more difficult to sedate a giant snake than a human.

Harry stayed a Basilisk for three days. Snape kept him company the whole time, including sleeping on a couch, leaving only to prepare meals. Harry was touched by this, but he was in a constant state of panic and too occupied with that to fully appreciate it. Snape owled the Burrow cancelling Harry's Saturday visit, informing them they were at a delicate state in their current potion and Harry couldn't be spared. This provoked an angry response from Ron, but Harry was too scared to notice.

He changed back in the middle of the third night. He was so relieved he burst into tears, waking Snape. Harry was curled on the rug in front of the fireplace and Snape rubbed his back, exhibiting the first sign of affection since graduation. Harry slowly came back to himself, and ate the chocolate bar Snape gave him with no argument.

"That was—"

"Don't," Snape interrupted. "It is over, there is nothing to worry about. I have learned much from this, and I am relatively confident it will not happen again."

"Relatively," Harry echoed shakily. "Good to know."

"You know this is a trial and error process," Snape said.

Harry nodded. "I know." Then he yawned, and his body deflated. "Calming draught's still in effect," he said. "Merlin, three days later? How much did you give me?"

"Enough to calm a Basilisk," Snape said, helping him to his feet and setting him on the couch. He covered him with a blanket and brushed the hair off his forehead. "Sleep however long you need. I will begin the next version of the potion on my own." He started to leave, and Harry grabbed his wrist.

"Stay?" Harry asked, eyes already closed. "I got used to you here. What if I turn back? Please stay."

Snape hesitated for a moment. "If you insist." He disentangled himself from Harry and moved to the other couch.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, almost entirely asleep. "Missed this."

Snape was spared having to answer by Harry falling asleep.

**31**

The third potion took ages. It _was_ delicate, and Harry actually _did_ have to beg out of several dinners to help Snape. The closer it came to the first of September the more tensions mounted, cumulating in Harry throwing a handful of frog brains at Snape, who yelled that he was docking fifty points from Gryffindor. They stared at each other, fuming, and then Harry burst into laughter, and Snape managed a small but genuine smile.

The only break they took was for Harry's birthday. Harry spent the day at the Burrow, feeling awful that he couldn't stay past eight, but insisted the fairy wings needed to be added exactly at five minutes past eight. He apparated back to Spinner's End with a new cauldron all the Weasleys and Hermione had chipped in on—solid gold with a tungsten lining. It was beautiful and practical and more than he could ever have asked for.

He was bursting with excitement to show Snape, and thus didn't immediately notice the setup in the kitchen. He levitated the cauldron in—it was much too heavy to carry—and started to tell him about it before the scene hit, and the cauldron fell to the floor with a heavy _thump_.

"You have yet to use your new cauldron, and already it is dented," Snape remarked dryly. "You are the pinnacle of grace."

"There's a cake?" Harry asked.

Snape rolled his eyes. "The pinnacle of observation as well. It is a cake, a _small_ cake. It has not escaped my knowledge that it is your birthday."

Harry half-sat, half-collapsed into a chair. "Thank you," he said, blowing out the single candle. The cake split itself in half, two plates appeared, and they hovered over to each man. Forks appeared before them, and Harry took the inaugural bite. "Merlin this is good," he mumbled through the cake.

"I am glad you think so," Snape replied.

They ate the cake in silence—it was small, each half perfectly sized. Harry had already had a great deal of cake at the Weasleys, and this was just light, fluffy and small enough not to feel like he was stuffing himself. Harry sighed, and pushed his empty plate away. It hovered over to the sink, washed and dried itself, and put it back in the cupboard.

"So what're we working on tonight?" Harry asked. "I don't suppose it's fairy wings? That's what I told the Weasleys."

"Not until next week," Snape replied, finishing off the last of his cake. "I have work to do, but it is your birthday, and you will take the night off."

Harry sighed. "I don't _like_ taking the night off," he said. "I've told you. It's boring. Spinner's End isn't exactly bustling with activity. Come on, let me help."

"Ungrateful prat," Snape said lightly. It was almost a term of endearment by now. "If you insist, you may use your new cauldron to brew a solution of Oculos Ius."

Harry blinked at him. "Without you?"

"You must learn to do these things yourself," Snape said. "I have prepared exhaustive instructions. You are capable."

"Okay," Harry said, a bit hesitantly. "Sure."

"I suggest stopping by your room before going downstairs," Snape said cryptically. "Your upstairs room, not the one in the basement."

"Um, okay," Harry repeated. "I'll meet you downstairs, then."

"Don't forget to fix that dent before you attempt to brew anything," Snape said as he left. "Dents smaller than yours have caused quite a problem."

"Right."

Snape vanished into the basement, and Harry sent his cauldron down to the basement before going up to his room. There was a small package at the foot of his bed. Harry approached it with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. To say he hadn't expected a gift from Snape was to say he might have a small preference for finding a cure for his condition. He couldn't have been more surprised if—he really didn't know, that was how surprised he was.

There was no note or card, which he expected, as much as he was expecting anything. There was a small box, and inside was a two-by-four inch hinged frame, and in that was a tiny portrait of Dumbledore, who smiled up at him.

"D-Dumbledore?" Harry stammered.

"Hello, Harry," the portrait said happily. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks," Harry said dumbly. "I thought you were at Hogwarts?"

"There are many portraits I frequent," Dumbledore replied. "Severus requested I add this frame to my rotation."

"Oh," Harry said, still feeling very behind on what was going on. "It's good to see you, Professor."

"You, as well," Dumbledore said. "I am very glad to see you and Severus are getting along so well."

Harry shifted awkwardly. "Yes, well, turns out I like potions," he said. Even now, with a portrait only a few inches tall, he could feel his piercing blue eyes and was sure Dumbledore knew he was lying, or at least not telling the whole truth.

"Very good," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. "I'll let you go back to it, then. I'm sure I will see you again soon."

"Yeah," Harry said. "Have a good night."

Dumbledore tipped his head at Harry, and walked out the side of the frame. Harry continued to stare at the now blank portrait for a few moments before closing the frame. He tucked it safely into his sock drawer, and went down to the basement. He had no idea what to say to Snape so he settled on nothing, instead investigating the dent in his new cauldron and repairing it. He was about to ask where to put it when he saw a new table against one wall, empty except for a scroll.

"Instructions for Oculos Ius," Snape said before Harry had a chance to ask. "The bench is yours."

"Thank you," Harry said, setting up his cauldron and gathering the ingredients from the apothecary. "And, y'know, thanks for the portrait."

"Alert me immediately if your potion at any point fails to look as it should," Snape replied, disregarding the thank you entirely. "You must be very careful. It would not be wise to experiment accidentally."

"Of course," Harry said, and got to brewing.

The distraction of his birthday over, and his first successful batch of Oculos Ius made, all focus returned to the new potion. The week before the first of September Snape owled Hogwarts and informed them he was in the middle of preparing a particularly volatile potion and could not return for at least a week. Harry didn't say anything, but he was both amazed and grateful that Snape would take off work to finish his potion, especially with the angry owls from Minerva.

The potion was finished Wednesday, and Harry tried it that night. It was another case of waiting around for nothing to happen, though this time Snape once again had grading; he was teaching his class from home, giving papers and grading even more harshly than usual. Harry sat around twiddling his thumbs. Occasionally he'd go upstairs and talk to Dumbledore, who always seemed to know when to appear, but their conversations never went beyond pleasantries, not with Harry's condition.

Friday night Snape informed him that he needed to return to his teaching position on Monday. Harry wasn't thrilled to be going back to the Chamber of Secrets, but he was looking forward to being an apprentice, whatever exactly that meant. Hopefully it would provide him with a steady workload, which he was sorely lacking.

**32**

Harry spent Sunday running back and forth between his basement room and his upstairs room, trying to pack both simultaneously. He was also bringing his cauldron, which he left by the front door so he wouldn't forget it. He hadn't put on shoes yet, just socks, and Snape had hardwood floors. He sprinted down the stairs, suddenly remembering where he had left the portrait of Dumbledore, and when he stepped off the last stair he slid forward uncontrollably, slamming into the cauldron and collapsing on the floor, cursing angrily.

Snape calmly stepped out of the sitting room. "Are you quite all right?"

"Yes," Harry muttered angrily, massaging his shins. "Yeah, I'm fine. Would it kill you to keep your floor less polished?"

"Apparently it might prevent your death," Snape replied. "Are you nearly finished? I would like to be at Hogwarts in time for dinner."

"Yeah," Harry said, standing up and wincing slightly. "I was just getting Dumbledore's portrait, and then I'm ready."

Snape nodded. "We have a stop to make before we leave. When you have finished slamming around, and once you remember to put your shoes on, come fetch me. I will be in the sitting room."

Harry looked after him, intrigued. Whatever this was, it was new. He grabbed the portrait, wrapped it carefully in a sock and stuck it in his trunk. He put on his shoes—obviously, he wasn't that dull—and hovered his luggage downstairs, setting it next to his cauldron.

"I'm ready," he called, sticking his head into the sitting room. "Where're we going?"

"You will see," Snape said cryptically. "Leave your belongings here, we are not going far and will come back for them."

"Okay," Harry said and, with great surprise, followed Snape out the front door. He didn't think they had walked anywhere together; when shopping needed to be done they'd apparate to Diagon Alley, and the only time they had been outdoors together was an occasional respite in the back yard, which was rather scraggly. Snape had enchanted the local field so Harry could fly, but that was in the other direction. Harry bit his lip against again asking where they were going; it would only irritate Snape.

As they walked the houses slowly became brighter and larger with lush green lawns and cheerful flowerbeds, very different from Spinner's End. They stopped at an unremarkable intersection, and Harry watched as Snape visibly collected himself.

"This way," he said, turning right, leading Harry down Gail Glen. They walked to the very end of the street where it dead-ended into a gently sloping field.

"Where are we?" Harry asked.

Snape turned to face the house they were in front of, and Harry examined it. Two stories, light blue, with a large picture window on the first floor. There was an overhang sheltering the front door, and a small, single story wing on the right side. A small bank of narrow windows rose from the roof, and off to one side was a chimney. It was okay, but Harry didn't see anything special about it.

"Snape?" he asked, prodding gently.

"This is—was—your mother's house," Snape said, voice sounding choked and restrained. "The Evans house."

Harry's eyes widened and a powerful sense of—of _something_ washed over him. His mum's house. Where she had grown up. Which bedroom had been hers? Did she look out onto the street, or into the back yard? Harry thought it would be easy to slip onto the overhang from the middle window on the second floor—had she done that? Or sat on the safer, flat roof of the extension? Had his dad ever come here? Did he kiss her goodnight by the front door? Harry hadn't realized he was feeling faint until Snape firmly grabbed his upper arm.

"Perhaps I made a mistake bringing you here," Snape said, almost apologetically.

"No," Harry said. His voice sounded far away, and he shook himself. "No, I'm glad you did."

"I did not spend much time here; Petunia made it—unpleasant." Harry nodded absently. "Every now and then I would sneak over at night and we would sit in the attic—that row of windows at the top—and stay up talking."

"About magic?" Harry asked. That's what he had seen from Snape's memories; then again, he hadn't seen his mum's house at all.

"Not mostly, no," Snape replied. "We would talk about what nine year olds usually talk about. Who was mean at school. Which teacher assigned the least amount of homework. Our favorite books. I believe Lily's were _The Chronicles of Narnia_."

_My mum had favorite books_, Harry thought numbly. _She read them here. In her house._

"I thought—" Harry cleared his throat. "Your memories, you talked about magic."

Snape nodded. "Are you ready to move on?"

"Which was her room?" Harry asked. "Which window?"

"It faced the backyard," Snape replied. "The right corner room on the other side of the hallway."

Harry wanted to go in, wanted to so badly he had to keep his feet in mind at all times in case he started walking. Instead he spared one last glance at his mum's house, memorizing the address. 16 Gail Glen, Cokeworth, England. "Okay," he said. "We can go."

Snape started down the slope, and Harry suddenly realized where they were; it was the field Petunia had run up after Lily made the flower appear in her hand. Once they were on the grass Harry could see the field ended at a lake, the one from his window in Snape's basement. And there, there was the dead tree where Snape and his mum first met, and the little peninsula with the willow tree where Snape had turned leaves into birds. Harry almost had to stop, but Snape was walking quickly and he didn't want to fall behind. He led them to the break in the trees where he had once laid in the grass with Lily.

"This is where we talked about magic," Snape said. "Here, and by the dead tree on the hill."

"I saw," Harry said quietly. He plucked a leaf from the tree and watched as it flew away. "Did you spend a lot of time here?"

"Yes."

Harry sat in the grass, looking out over the landscape he had seen so often from his room, the view that was permanently etched into his mind of his mum and Snape as children. Snape sat next to him, but he hardly noticed. He didn't know he was crying, either, until a late summer breeze whispered over his face, cooling the tears. He wiped them away unthinkingly.

"I'm sorry my dad was such an arse," Harry said. "I know why my mum stopped talking to you, when you called her that and said you were going to be a Death Eater, but maybe if it weren't for my dad…" He didn't know what. Maybe they would have stayed friends. Maybe Snape would have been a part of his life long before they were forced together. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

"It is of no use to think of such things," Snape said. "Coming here is not wise, either, but I thought you might want to see it outside of an enchanted window or a memory. Remember that lingering in the past cannot lead to anything good."

Harry nodded, but he didn't get up, and neither did Snape. He rubbed his eyes, willing himself to stop crying. "I wish—"

"No," Snape interrupted. "Don't."

Harry nodded distractedly. "Yeah, okay."

Snape hesitantly rested a hand on Harry's shoulder, and Harry leaned against him, not really thinking about it. He wasn't here with the hated and feared Professor Snape; he was here with Severus, his mum's friend.

"Snape—" he started again.

"Don't," Snape repeated softly.

Harry nodded again. "I have to go now."

"A good decision."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Happy Boxing Day! I'm not exactly sure what that is, but I have been told people celebrate it!

I feel the need to share the (absolute basics, because it was really long) dream I had last night with you: it was a HIMYM/X-Men/Firefly/Harry Potter crossover that involved Barney falling in love with me, Wolverine saving me but then being turned into a magical creature anyway, Inara teaching me how to become that creature and then killing Voldemort and all the Death Eaters with massive amounts of explosives. Not too bad.

So I'm a little zoned, thanks to that. I also woke up to forty emails, and I'm pretty sure I hallucinated some reviews and need to go back and reread everything.

Anyway, enjoy!

**Chapter Eleven**

**32**

The first week back at Hogwarts was disorienting to say the least. He sat at the staff table, which would have been strange enough on its own, but at least he got to sit with Neville, who was interning with Professor Sprout. He and Neville grew very close, an unexpected and very pleasant surprise. Under Snape's direction, Slughorn turned over the first year classes to him, which gave him more than enough work. The work wasn't difficult but he didn't exactly remember it either. Grading was its own nightmare; Harry didn't want to be seen as stern and difficult as Snape, but he wasn't going to let stupidity slide by, and it seemed there was quite a bit of stupidity rampant amongst the first years. When he finally mentioned it to Snape he was treated with a smirk of the I-told-you-so variety.

Just when Harry was certain the potion had worked he changed. Snape continued to be optimistic, which Harry still wasn't used to. Harry had gone a month and a half without a change, a new record. Now it was once again a matter of concentrating the potion, streamlining the brewing process, and waiting.

Harry was not thrilled with waiting.

**33**

The third try was in the middle of October. Harry didn't change. He still hadn't by the time winter break rolled around, and he and Snape returned to Spinner's End for the holidays. A series of tests were performed in which Snape talked to him in Parseltongue, asking him, then telling him, and finally yelling at him to change. Nothing worked.

On Christmas Eve he finally changed. He spent the night curled angrily in front of the fireplace. If there was any time he didn't want to change, it was absolutely Christmas Eve. He would have given anything to be with the Weasleys but no, instead he was stuck in Snape's basement. Snape himself was upstairs sleeping, and Harry didn't have any way of alerting him to his change, so he spent the night alone. He had seen Nagini slither up and down staircases, but even with his hardened skin he found it tremendously uncomfortable.

Snape came down very early in the morning, and Harry was still in his changed form. Snape sighed.

"Two and a half months," he said, sitting on the couch. "We're getting closer."

"Of course we are," Harry snapped. "Merry bloody Christmas."

"What was that?"

Harry paused. Snape hadn't asked for a definition in months. "Er, today. December twenty-fifth."

"Merry Christmas to you, too," Snape said. He slipped into Parseltongue. "Now change back."

Harry did. Immediately. He sat on the floor, shocked. Snape was staring at him in a way that suggested he thought he was hallucinating.

"Two and a half months, and half a cure," Harry said, awed. "The better half even. If I can control when I change back, then—"

"You are getting ahead of yourself," Snape said. "For all we know it could be coincidence. If not, we need to know if you can order yourself to change or if you need me."

"It's Christmas and I'm optimistic," Harry said firmly. "Don't you dare take that away from me."

"Fair enough," Snape replied. "Do you wish to test this potion again, or shall I attempt a new brew to control when you make the first change?"

"I don't want to think about it today," Harry said. "Let's just take a break and celebrate Christmas."

"Very well," Snape said. "You leave for the Burrow at noon, yes?"

"Mhm," Harry replied. "Then the Longbottoms for an early dinner, and back by eight."

"What would you have us do until then? Last year I did not see you until the evening, presumably after any Christmas traditions," he said. "All we did was take relaxation draught."

"I don't really have any plans or traditions," Harry said. "Opening presents with the Gryffindors. That's about it. We should continue with the relaxation potion, though, when I get back."

"Ah, presents. of course," Snape said, taking out his wand and performing a wordless spell. "I did not wish to bring it down lest you were still in Basilisk form and ill-equipped to deal with the subtelties of wrapping paper, but since that is not the case…"

Harry was prepared this time. He may have missed last Christmas, and it might not have occurred to him that Snape had a birthday until his own was celebrated, but he had remembered this year. Unlike Snape, who hovered his gift and landed it delicately on the table in front of Harry, he reached under the couch and pulled out a messily wrapped package. He had done his wrapping at the Burrow, and when Hermione saw what a mess he was making she had offered to help. Harry insisted it was better this way, eliciting some very odd looks from his friends. Still, even though the wrapping paled in comparison to Snape's perfect box, he was pleased with it.

"You go first," Harry said. "I missed Christmas and your birthday, it's your turn to open something."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Very well." His expression of curiosity quickly turned to annoyance. "Potter, how the bloody hell did you wrap this?"

Harry flushed. "I'm not very good at wrapping."

"I can see that," Snape replied distastefully. He took out his wand and banished the paper. A black dragon hide box sat before him, his initials branded in the center. He took it, running his fingers over the Hebridean leather. He tried to open it and frowned. "Is there a spell I need to know?"

Harry's eyes widened. "Shit! No. Just a second." He leaned over the front of the couch, sticking an arm beneath it and rummaging around. He emerged a few moments later, sleeve covered in dust, with a much smaller package. "Sorry, I forgot," he said, sliding the package across the table, looking very humbled. "You were supposed to open this first, to build the suspense, but, well, that didn't happen." He wrapped a fleece throw around himself, feeling very small and silly.

Snape banished the wrapping paper without even trying to open it on his own and two identical keys clattered to the table. The lock made a satisfying _click_ as it released, and Harry waited nervously as he opened the box. He knew this was a good gift, he was positive, but still. Maybe it was too much or not enough and it was Snape and he was impossible to please.

The box was divided into eight sections, each containing a small crystal vial, the sort that Slughorn had used for the Felix Felicis in sixth year. The vials on the top row were filled, and the ones on the bottom left empty.

Snape's face remained impassive as he examined each vial. The first was labeled _Oculos Ius, H.P., 08/'01_. A tiny sampling of his first solo batch. The second said _relax ptn, S.S., borrowed 12/'01._ Harry was nervous about that, since he'd had to sneak it out of Snape's stores, but he figured since he was giving it back, and it really was only borrowed, maybe he could get away with it. The third vial said _calming ptn., H.S., 12/'01_ and then, in tiny letters beneath that _just in case_. That was meant as a joke, but Snape's sense of humor was, to put it mildly, hit or miss, and Harry had no idea how he'd take it. The final vial was labeled _Felix Felicis, H.S. & H.P., 11-12/'01_. Slughorn had given him a lot of help with that one, and while they never discussed exactly why Harry needed it, Harry was fairly certain Slughorn knew, otherwise there would have been a lot of questioning involved.

Harry stayed silent for as long as he could. "The case is Hebridean," he said eventually. "Because I'm not there, I'm here. The first three potions are sort of sentimental, er, well—" His brain was racing, looking for a word Snape might not hate as much, "—nostalgic, or pathetic, but the last one, I thought a few things, I thought you would be proud of my potion skills, that I could make it, even if I needed help, and also maybe we could use it for our next batch of the current potion, if you think that's a good idea." Harry forced himself to shut up and wait for Snape to say something.

"Potter—" He cleared his throat. "Harry, this is truly incredible. The thought of such a box, and the skill that went into creating these potions—the ones you made, rather than stole from my stores or took from Slughorn—is immense. I would not have thought you capable of brewing Felix Felicis, regardless of who was helping you. I am very impressed."

Harry glowed. He couldn't have asked for anything more. Snape never, _ever_ said he was impressed. Harry couldn't remember a single time he had spoken those words, whether to him or Draco Malfoy or even about himself. "I'm really glad," Harry said. "I wasn't sure…"

Snape closed the box and locked it, slipping the keys into his pocket. "There is nothing to be unsure of," he said.

"Okay," Harry said firmly, again forcing himself to stop blabbing. He had gotten the box from the MacFusty's, who sold a variety of Hebridean wares, making sure to put every part of the dragons to use. They never killed, only foraged dragons that had died naturally. The engraving was done at a shop in Hogsmeade that specialized in dragon hide goods. The vials came from the Hogsmeade branch of Potage's Cauldron Shop. Slughorn had given him the calming draught and Harry had snagged the relaxation draught the first night of holidays. He could tell Snape all of this, but if he wanted to know, he would ask. What's more, he was very clever, and had no doubt inferred it all. Even Harry's earlier outburst was doubtless unnecessary.

Harry forgot entirely he had his own gift to unwrap until Snape gestured at it. The moment Harry touched the box it divided in two, and he looked up curiously. One was a flat rectangle, the other surprisingly large and squishy.

"A slight bit of magic for simplicity," Snape explained.

Harry had to resist rolling his eyes. Of course Snape would magic his gifts into one, smaller box, while Harry's were strewn under the couch. Inside the wrapping paper was a thin, flat box, and Harry would have bet the wood was holly. That touch, that was the sort of gesture he never would have thought Snape capable of. The box opened with a small button, and Harry was presented with a display of knives.

"It is high time you had your own set," Snape said. "You are not as inept as you were when we first began, but I tire of constantly needing to sharpen my knives after the abuse they take at your hands."

Harry sighed. Of course he would make this difficult. The other "of course", the "of course" everyone saw. Still, the set was beautiful, and contained everything he'd need, short of that miniature jackhammer for the bezoar stones. Harry was pleased to see that he knew the name of each knife—an Oriental cleaver, a paring knife, a bagel knife, a bread knife and a chef's knife. It always struck him as strange that potion knives retained kitchen names, but it made them easier to identify, as well as lending Harry a handiness in the kitchen he wouldn't have otherwise possessed.

"Thank you," Harry said, though he couldn't resist the urge to add a snarky comment. "These knives are a beautiful gift from yourself to your own set. I'm sure you'll appreciate them very much."

"Knock it off, Potter," Snape said, though his sneer wasn't nearly as mean as it seemed. "I could have merely gotten you a series of potions tools, yet I gave you only what you desperately needed. Open the second gift."

Harry took it onto his lap and unwrapped it. It was a striped, rough woolen blanket. Snape had provided him with more than enough blankets, both throws down here and plushy comforters in his room. But even as he started to ask the question, he knew the answer: it was _warm_. "Why another…" He trailed off as it became obvious. "Merlin this is warm."

Snape smiled thinly. "A muggle manufacturer, but a fine purveyor nevertheless. I had it in mind for my basement and the Chamber, but you may do with it as you please. This is the largest size available, so it is possible if you were coiled tightly enough it might cover you in your other form as well."

Harry brushed his fingers along the rough surface. Scratchy, but comfortably so. He had never noticed the difference between commercial wool and _real_ wool before. It was a good sort of scratchy, very fitting of the man who gave it to him.

"Thank you," Harry said again. "Really, thank you."

"Living in a basement is hardly ideal," Snape said. "I do not mind making your stays more comfortable."

"You need to learn how to take a compliment," Harry said firmly. He unfolded the blanket and tucked it around himself, shrugging off the fleece in favor of the new blanket. "Want to play chess? It's been a while."

"If you would like," Snape said, summoning the set over.

"You're so bloody cryptic," Harry said, though he helped set up. "'If you would like'. What's that supposed to mean? Would you _enjoy_ playing chess or are you just placating me?"

"Does it matter?" Snape asked. "It is Christmas, and I would like you to be happy."

Harry was touched. That was a better answer than addressing his question. "Fine, then I get to go first."

"Go ahead."

**34**

Lunch at the Burrow was perfect. It was enough to make Harry forget his condition, except when he was asked how his apprenticeship was going, to which he gave vague, nonspecific answers. He focused on working with the first years rather than what potions he was working on. Only Hermione seemed genuinely interested in those details, and Harry could always find a different conversation he was suddenly a part of to ignore her. The blessing he received from the Weasleys surprised him; he assumed they'd be upset he wasn't working for the Ministry, but they didn't seem to mind at all. Instead they congratulated him on getting along with Snape, and pursuing an unpopular field of magic. There was hope that his teaching would get rid of the negative connotations Snape had given the subject. But most importantly, there was Christmas, and love, and joy, and festivities. Exploding Snaps, a traditional goose for lunch, the exchanging of gifts. Harry couldn't ask for more.

Dinner with Neville and his gran was that "more". Harry had only met her at the final battle, which was hardly time to get to know someone. He found her sharp and witty and caustic, almost the opposite of Neville. But it was obvious how much she loved her grandson, on more than one occasion in a manner that caused him to blush and shoo her off. Harry and Neville talked about work until she demanded that Christmas dinner was not the time for such things. Despite her excellent cooking Harry couldn't handle more than two servings after his lunch, and he really should have stopped at one. There was more Exploding Snaps, a game of chess, and another round of gift giving. Harry lost track of time and didn't leave until quarter of nine, upsetting the table in his rush to get home and generating worried looks from Neville and his gran about being overworked and not even getting Christmas Day off. Harry promised he was fine, and apparated back to Spinner's End with a loud crack.

Harry reappeared in the potions lab, which was empty. A quick check of the rest of the basement revealed it empty as well. So was the kitchen, the sitting room, and Snape's bedroom. He walked back downstairs and, very hesitantly, knocked on the locked door. He had figured out it was Snape's study ages ago, and had entirely avoided it, not even going so far as to knock on the door before now.

"Come in."

Harry opened the door and stuck his head inside. Snape was sitting on a leatherback chair, engrossed in a book so old it Harry was surprised it didn't disintegrate entirely.

"Er, I'm home," Harry said, then immediately smacked himself. Since when was Spinner's End his home? He was staying there. It was Snape's home, not his. And no doubt Snape knew when he apparated in; he would have enough protection charms on his home to defend it against the most wily of wizards, never mind Harry.

"So I see," Snape said, not looking up from his book and thus not seeing anything.

Harry shrunk away. "Never mind," he said quietly. "Sorry for bothering you."

Snape finally looked up. "What do you want?"

Harry felt himself grow smaller. It had been a long time since Snape had intimidated him this much. "Relaxation draught," he muttered. "I thought, maybe, we might have had plans, but never mind."

Snape marked his place and closed his book. "I apologize, you are entirely correct," he said, standing and sweeping out the door, past Harry, closing the door securely behind himself. "My book was very engrossing."

"If you want to keep reading, that's fine," Harry said quietly, still feeling small. "I really didn't mean to interrupt, I know your study is locked."

Snape turned and gave Harry a small but genuine smile. "You must learn to listen, Potter. I say what I mean. I have been looking forward to this, and I will not miss it due to a short lapse in memory."

"Okay," Harry said.

"Okay," Snape echoed. He led them down to the potions lab, unlocked his trunk and removed a flask before continuing into Harry's basement room. They sat on their respective couches, Harry on the right one, Snape on the left, the way it had been since the first time Harry transfigured them, and Snape poured them equal measures of the potion.

"To Christmas," Snape said, startling Harry.

"To Christmas," Harry echoed. They drank, and Harry relaxed back on the couch, letting the brew take effect. At first it felt like a calming draught, but instead of getting limp and wiggly, he seemed to sink into the couch, his brain along with his body. The calming draught muffled panic, while the relaxation potion made him genuinely happy. Happy and open and silly and—well—relaxed. He covered himself in the blanket Snape gave him and sighed happily.

"This has been a surprisingly good Christmas," Harry said. "Actually this year has been pretty good in general, despite me, y'know, turning into a Basilisk."

"Indeed," Snape said. "I have not enjoyed a Christmas in a very long time."

"Last year was good, too," Harry mused. "Not as good, I was stuck in the Chamber and Ron and Hermione were at the Weasleys, but good. This is better. And the Christmas before that I almost died."

"Good," Snape said. "The book I was reading, that was a gift from Horace. A first edition of _Moste Potente Potions._ It needs to stay locked in my study, of course, but it is a fascinating read."

"Great," Harry replied happily. "Hermione got me a book too, she always does, and some candy to offset it."

Snape snorted. "You would need candy to placate the giving of a book."

"Yeah, but I _like_ candy," Harry said. He summoned a bag from Honeydukes. "Chocolate Frogs, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, a little bit of everything." He took out a Chocolate Frog and bit the head off before it could escape. He sighed happily again. "This is the first time I've had chocolate for fun, rather than as a cure, in ages. D'you want one?"

Snape considered. "Do you have Lemon Drops? Albus left me with an addiction."

Harry dug through his bag. "Yeah, here you go," he said, tossing a small box over.

"The perfect end to the day," Snape said, sucking on one of the candies.

They settled into a comfortable silence. Harry let his mind wander. Spending the holiday at Spinner's End was very good. And they were close to controlling his changes, almost. He frowned slightly. What would he do when they perfected the potion? Would he still be Snape's apprentice? No doubt he'd move back to the loneliness of Grimmauld Place. At least he wouldn't be stuck in the Chamber of Secrets anymore—if he kept the apprenticeship, that was.

"Can I still work with you?" Harry asked nervously. "When we're done with this Basilisk business?"

Snape paused for a moment. "You would rather remain a potions apprentice than work for the Ministry?"

"I wouldn't have thought so," Harry said. "But yeah. It's nice not having to fight Death Eaters all the time, I like living at Hogwarts, and I like teaching a lot more than I thought I would. If you don't want me that's fine, but I thought I'd ask."

"You're welcome to stay on," Snape said. "If it's what you want."

"Yeah," Harry said. This had been bouncing around the back of his head for a while, and he had been trying to work up the courage to ask Snape for the past few weeks, but it was only now that he was finally relaxed enough to talk about it.

"I don't think anything needs to change," Snape mused. "As far as Minerva and the rest of the school is concerned, you are already my apprentice, and nothing more. You'll just continue on as it is. You'll have your own quarters of course, once you don't need to live in the Chamber. You'll probably end up living with Longbottom; that's how it's worked in the past, when there are two apprentices."

"That'd be good," Harry said. "We'd still see each other though, right? You and me?"

A long pause. "You _are_ my apprentice, Potter. I don't see how I could teach you without seeing you."

Harry blinked. "Oh, right."

"Are you implying you would miss me?" Snape asked.

"Well, y'know," Harry muttered, suddenly embarrassed. "You're, y'know, an adult, who takes care of me, sort of. I'm short on those. And not because you're forced to, but because you want to? I think?"

Snape looked at him. "You would be correct," he said. "Not at first, and you are still very difficult at times, but I suppose I have come to care for you."

"At times," Harry repeated. "That's better than before."

"This is between us," Snape said firmly. "I do not wish to have my reputation ruined."

Harry smiled to himself. "Yeah, of course. Merlin forbid you actually _care_ for someone, let alone admit it."

"I'm not kidding, Potter. You may continue your apprenticeship only under the condition that you do as I say," he said. "And I say this is between us."

Harry laughed. "Fine, you wheezy old git."

"Immature prat."

They fell into another comfortable, relaxed silence. Harry had no idea how much time had passed, but he found himself getting sleepy. The relaxation potion, his three Christmases, continually waking up early due to his Basilisk tendencies. He yawned.

"I think I'm gonna sleep down here," Harry said, curling up on the couch. "Upstairs is so far away. Besides, I'm lacking in Christmas traditions, and last year I was in the Chamber, so it's only fitting I stay in the basement."

"Is that a backhanded way of asking me to stay with you?" Snape asked.

That honestly hadn't occurred to Harry. "No," he said. "You can if you want, but I'm not going to ask you to sleep on a couch because I have some stupid need for holiday sappiness. Go on, it's fine."

Snape stayed on the couch. "Didn't you receive presents at the Dursleys?"

"Only if Dudley broke something," Harry replied. "And, er, I think I got a pair of socks one year. A fifty-cent piece my first year at Hogwarts. That was sort of sweet, that they remembered me."

Snape sighed. "If your parents—"

"Don't," Harry interrupted. "You told me not to dwell on the past, when we were at my mum's house."

"Very true," Snape replied. "I will stay down here. I have slept on this couch before, it's comfortable enough."

"Mkay," Harry said with a smile.

"Toss me the throw, would you? Even with the heat lamp and the fireplace it's drafty."

"You could just conjure yourself something warmer," Harry said, though he did levitate a blanket over to Snape. "I'm warm, due to someone who refuses to be complimented. I'm perfect."

"Sod off, Potter," Snape said pleasantly.

"Whatever you say," Harry replied. He was very nearly asleep, and the relaxation potion was still coursing through him, and while neither were a real excuse, it was all he could come up with. "Remember last year, when it was just before N.E.W.T.s and I sort of had a breakdown, and you gave me calming potion and stuff?"

Snape sighed. "Don't tell me you need calming potion on top of the relaxation draught."

"No, no, not that," Harry continued. "Well, er, I said I was lonely, because I was, and now it's Christmas, and I'm not exactly lonely because I had the Weasleys and the Longbottoms, and you, but still."

There was a moment of silence. "Still what?"

"Well, y'know," Harry started. "Christmas is usually, er, I mean—never mind." He buried his face in his pillow. Merlin this had been a moronic idea. Gryffindor stupidity at work yet again. He could practically hear Snape thinking, trying to figure out what nonsense he was talking about. And Snape was very clever. Bloody hell.

"Would you be implying that you wish to share a couch with me?"

Harry kept his head in his pillow. Yes, he and Snape were close, at least by Snape's standards. Yes, he was sort of a guardian-esque type figure, in a difficult, ornery sort of way. And yes, Christmas was a time for physical contact. But really, was any of that an excuse for what he had said?

"No," Harry told his pillow.

Snape sighed irritably. "I am far more put off by the means in which you asked than the request itself."

Harry didn't know how to handle that, only that he felt remarkably immature and stupid. So what if he missed his parents on Christmas? That was no excuse. Merlin, if he was so desperate all he had to was wait until he definitely wasn't going to change—after three in the morning, Snape had decided—and then get Hermione. Only she'd be with Ron, or her parents, and he wasn't keen on interrupting holiday activities with Ron, and he had never been to her parents' house, so he couldn't apparate there.

Anyway. The point was that he was almost twenty and he needed to grow up.

"I was just muttering," Harry muttered. "Mostly asleep and all."

Snape sighed again, much less upset. "Potter, I absolutely _swear_ you to secrecy, but if it's important to your Christmas sensibilities, I suppose it wouldn't be unbearable."

Harry blinked. "Er—"

"Harry, it's Christmas, just come here."

Feeling very small, especially draped in his giant blanket, Harry shuffled to the other couch. He sat uncomfortably. "I know I'm really childish," he mumbled. "I just, well, y'know, didn't have a real…" He trailed off. This was stupid. He really was the whiny brat he'd always been accused of being. If Malfoy could see him now, practically begging for a tiny bit of physical contact, especially from Snape; Merlin, he'd have a field day, and he'd have every right to.

"You—" Harry started, his voice dropping. "Sort of—" Even lower, quieter than a whisper. "Family, almost, not really."

"I know," Snape replied. "Please don't ask me to talk about it. I find it acceptable only if you keep quiet."

"Okay," Harry whispered, looking down at the stripes on his blanket. Black, yellow, red, green… He heard a muttered incantation, and glanced over to see the couch had extended into a chaise. Snape shifted so he was mostly lying down and held out an arm.

"Either come here or don't, but do not just sit there staring blankly," Snape said, striving for irritable and not quite making it. "Really, Potter, I do not enjoy being gaped at."

"Sorry," Harry mumbled. Feeling sort of like he was in a dream he scooted over and, very hesitantly, certain that he was going to be cursed to hell and back at any second, lay down, using Snape's chest as a pillow. Snape wrapped an arm around him.

"_Not _a_ word_, Potter," Snape said firmly. "Do you understand me? Do you have any idea what I can do to you if you say anything about this, ever?"

"Yes," Harry said quietly. "I won't."

"All right, then."

Despite being tense and nervous as all hell, Harry was strangely comfortable. He hadn't felt cared about like this since Sirius had been alive. It was weird, because it was Snape, but he was fairly certain this had been building for a while, and so maybe having someone like him, especially on Christmas, was a little bit brilliant.

"Merry Christmas," Harry said quietly.

"Yes, Harry, Merry Christmas," Snape replied. Harry was certain he was supposed to sound sarcastic and unpleasant, but he was just as sure that he was sincere. "Go to sleep, okay?"

"Mkay." Harry was almost too warm—the combination of the fireplace, the heated ceiling, the woolen blanket and Snape provided quite a bit of warmth—but there was no question that it was worth it. He could hear Snape's heart beat. When was the last time he'd felt someone's heart beat? Maybe never. He sighed, and the relaxation draught resurfaced, and he yawned again. "G'night, Snape."

There was a long pause, and Harry thought it was because Snape was regretting his offer, or agreeing to Harry's suggestion, however it had gone, but Harry was wrong.

"As long as it's Christmas—and mind you, it's only Christmas for another few hours—you might as well call me Severus."

Harry had to force the relaxation draught to surface. Otherwise he thought his heart might stop with shock. "Er, okay."

"Sleep well, Harry," Snape said.

"You, too," Harry replied. Then, very quietly, he added, "Severus."

**35**

Harry and Snape were arguing before Harry even had a chance to properly wake up. It was his fault, he supposed. The first thing he said was a normal good morning, which was echoed back, and then he said he wanted to try the same potion again before changing the recipe.

"Why?" Snape asked. "What do you feel the point is? We have already proved you can be ordered to change back, but not when you first turn into a Basilisk."

"No, we _think_ it lets me change back," Harry corrected. "It could've been a coincidence, you said so yourself. And what it does work, then we need to see if I can tell myself to change. You said so yesterday."

Snape frowned. "Perhaps we do not know those things, but it does not matter. We need to refine the potion anyway, there is no point in wasting time on frivolous experiments."

Harry half sat up, leaning his elbow on Snape's legs so he could face the man. "There is if it means I can turn back whenever I want," Harry said. "That's not frivolous, that's the difference between being held hostage and being free."

"It will not take me long to have the next version of the potion ready," Snape replied. "If the old one is still in your system we will not be able to test it."

Harry struggled to come up with the words. "Yeah, but—"

"I will have it ready by the end of break," Snape interrupted. "Surely you can wait a mere five days."

Harry was not confident in that ability. "But—"

"But nothing," Snape said firmly. "If I have not prepared something by New Year's Eve you may retry what we already have."

"It's my body," Harry muttered. "My change. I ought to be in charge of it."

"It is my potion," Snape replied. "And you are my responsibility. I will make these decisions."

Harry went from humble to intense annoyance. "It's not up to you!"

Snape smiled thinly. "That is where you are wrong. It is most certainly up to me, however little you may like it."

Harry's eyes were blazing. "This isn't fair."

"I am sorry you find it so," Snape replied.

Harry continued to glare at him before resigning himself. Snape was even more stubborn than he was; there would be no changing his mind, not when he was so obstinate. Harry supposed he could sneak a dose away, but if Snape found out—and he would—that would not end well. Harry sighed and lay back down.

"Do you understand why we are waiting?" Snape asked.

"Yes," Harry said irritably.

"We will get there," Snape said. "I promise we will find a way to control this."

Harry sighed again. He had pushed back any reaction to yesterday's quasi-success under the guise of Christmas spirit, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized how frustrated and angry at how close they had come. So bloody _close_, and it didn't mean a damned thing.

Well, at least he saved the moping for Boxing Day instead of on Christmas itself.

"I'm gonna go shower," Harry said, starting to sit up.

"Harry, stop," Snape said uncomfortably. "I'm doing this for your own good. As your doctor, so to speak. A scientist."

"Yeah, I know," Harry said, though he didn't try to get up again, not when he was still wrapped in Snape's arms.

"But," Snape continued, "as your—family, I believe you called me—I am sorry. Truly."

Had he said that? Merlin. No more relaxation potion, not ever. "Right," Harry said, trying to hide his embarrassment and sulkiness. It occurred to him that couldn't have been easy for Snape to say, but he thought acknowledging it would only make things worse. "Do you want help brewing?"

"Prepare the bezoar stones," Snape replied. "And aconite."

Harry closed his eyes. Of course. "Are you sure I can't brew anything?"

"I will teach you when the potion is complete," Snape said. "For now I need only the ingredients."

This day was just going brilliantly. But not doing anything wouldn't make the testing process go any faster, so he took a quick shower and joined Snape in the potions lab. He couldn't even use his new knives, not when he needed the jackhammer for the bezoar stones. They worked diligently through breakfast, taking a break for lunch before returning to brewing.

Harry was doing a very bad job of focusing on his work, and Snape tossed his first three attempts, claiming they were too mangled and would ruin the entire potion were they to be added. It was a tribute to Harry's distraction that he wasn't upset with Snape, merely started on a new batch. His thoughts were swirling, switching from anger and frustration at not being able to retest immediately versus slowly running over what they had said the night before, and how exactly that impacted their relationship. Clearly Snape wasn't going to go any easier on him, not that Harry expected him to. But maybe—maybe he did have someone. More than maybe, in fact. It was just a question of how much Snape was willing to admit to when he wasn't under the effects of a relaxation potion, when it wasn't a holiday, when it wasn't the middle of the night.

The answer, unsurprisingly, was not much. He might have been slightly kinder to Harry, and it was possible he used his given name more often, but that was about it. As promised, the new potion was ready to test on New Year's Eve, and it was anticlimactic. Harry didn't change that night, which meant nothing. They spent quite some time trying to get Harry to change to no avail.

What happened that night was so surprisingly sweet Harry was half-convinced he hallucinated it. He and Snape were in the basement, sort of counting down to the New Year and sort of just not doing anything. Harry and Snape were sharing a couch—that was one of the few things that had changed—and the Tempus charm that was hovering above the fireplace slowly counted down the minutes. Harry's eyes were closed and he was dozing lightly and Snape was engrossed in _Moste Potente Potions_ when the charm started ticking down to midnight. Harry opened his eyes, watching the numbers. Snape marked his place and closed his book. When the charm reached zero it let out a trumpet noise and burst into confetti.

"Happy New Year," Harry said. He slipped into Parseltongue. "Change, goddammit!" Nothing happened.

"Happy New Year," Snape echoed. "Stop ordering yourself around. We have performed enough tests tonight."

Harry sighed bitterly. "Yeah, fine."

Snape shuffled over and, nearly giving him a heart attack, gave him a chaste kiss on his forehead. "Happy New Year, all right?" he said. "Let it go."

Harry stared, dumbfounded, at whatever happened to be in front of him—the other couch, in this instance. "Okay," he said.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** I'm so sorry about the length of this chapter! Like I said, I divided the story up after it was written, and this poor little guy is the runt of the litter. Still, though, my kitten is the run of her litter, and she's the bestest kitten ever. Not that this is the best chapter ever. I mean, it could be, I don't really know. I can't rate my chapters like that; it's like Sophie's Choice, y'know?

**At the end of this chapter you will have a choice!** If you want to keep the story as a platonic mentor fic, just keep reading through chapters thirteen and fourteen (the epilogue). If, however, you want to read the romantic Snarry ending, skip ahead to the Chapter Sixteen and start there! It will still say chapter thirteen at the top, since it replaces the platonic mentor chapter thirteen. I'm equally pleased with both endings, and I know my readership is divided, so this is how we're going to keep everyone happy :)

I'm going to post another note at the bottom of this chapter and at the beginnings of both versions of chapter thirteen, just to be super clear ^.^

As always, enjoy!

**Chapter Twelve**

**36**

Harry discovered Snape's birthday the morning of. They were having breakfast at the staff table and Harry wasn't really paying attention to Snape; he was too engrossed in a conversation with Neville about aconite to notice much.

However, a large, brown package dropped in front of Snape was enough to get his attention.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"I would not know, Potter, I have yet to open it," Snape replied, rolling his eyes. Harry watched on with interest as Snape unwrapped the package. There was a gift basket of sorts, though instead of things like fruit and cookies, it contained obscure potions books, a bottle of aged scotch, and small boxes labeled in a language Harry couldn't read. Snape smiled briefly before wrapping it back up and sending it down to his room.

"Well?" Harry asked. "What's the occasion?"

"Nothing important," Snape replied, going back to his breakfast. "Return to your conversation."

"No," Harry said firmly. "No, tell me."

"It is none of your business," Snape said. "I would have told you were it important."

"Don't be so uptight, Severus," Minerva broke in. "It's his birthday."

Harry's eyes widened while Snape winced. "Why didn't you tell me?" he accused. "You celebrated my birthday, I ought to be able to celebrate yours."

"I do not wish to dwell on such things," Snape replied tightly. "As you well know, Minerva. I have resigned myself to gifts from the staff, but you needn't spread it all over the school."

"Harry and Neville _are_ staff," Minerva replied. "I won't argue with you, there isn't any point in it, but if you could just _relax_—"

"I am relaxed as I chose to be," Snape said icily. "I refuse to abide this nonsense any further."

Minerva sighed, rolling her eyes. "Very well, Severus. If you desire to spend your birthday sulking, I won't get in your way."

Harry tapped his fingers on the table and turned back to Neville. "Anyway, you were talking about nodding onions?"

"Yeah," Neville replied. "They're, um." He dropped his voice. "Are you going to do anything?"

Harry glanced at the man on his other side. "I'm not teaching until after lunch," he whispered. "I think a trip to Hogsmeade is in order, don't you?"

"Sorry mate, I've got class at ten," Neville said quietly. "But good luck finding something."

Harry nodded slightly, then raised his voice. "So it's got nice flowers?"

Neville cleared his throat. "Yup, it's known for them. It's used all over Northern America for…"

**37**

Harry was already in the Chamber when Snape arrived. He was looking particularly sour, and poured himself a serving of scotch before sitting down, a pile of scrolls in front of him.

"I hate this time of year," he said bitterly. "How is it that every single student manages to Obliviate every single piece of information over the holidays?"

Harry smiled slightly. "Happy birthday, Severus."

Snape glared at him. "Is it Christmas?" he snapped. "Have I given you permission to use my given name?"

Harry summoned a perfectly wrapped package and set it down in front of him, sending scrolls fluttering to the side. "The shop wrapped it for me, so presumably you can actually open it this time."

"Yet again, Potter, you have created a mess in your wake," Snape replied distastefully. "Those papers were organized, you know."

Harry waved his wand and they resorted themselves. "There. Stop stalling and open your gift."

Severus sighed heavily. "Fine," he muttered, opening the package. Inside was a crystal decanter, swirling in something like an s-shape. He held it up, and firelight glinted in all directions. "Lovely," he said irritably, but Harry thought he was genuine. "Now let me grade these insufferable papers. They're horrid, but unfortunately I am still bound to read them." He sent the decanter to the potions table, took out his red ink and turned to his papers.

But one he finished grading papers and went back to brewing—Harry didn't know what, something for his own enjoyment—Harry noted he was using his new flask. Harry smiled to himself.

**38**

Harry didn't respond to attempts to force him into a change. The potion merely postponed his transformation, which was much more annoying than if it did nothing at all. The completed potion sat on the potions bench in the Chamber until late March when it turned from a bright, grass green to a dull greenish-brown, at which point Snape threw it away. Neither of them spoke about it, only waited for Harry to change again.

If he was going to.

Which would really be important information to know.

Harry was still enjoying his apprenticeship, and enjoyed teaching the first years even more. Neville loved spending all his time in the greenhouses, and he was finally starting to get the hang of teaching. The students still scared him, and he still had trouble coming out of his shell, but it seemed to finally be sinking in that he was more than capable of teaching Herbology.

In late April Harry finally transformed. He took Oculos Ius, and swished his tail nervously as he and Snape went over the plans again. First he would tell himself to change back. If that didn't work, Snape would try.

There wasn't actually a lot to plan.

"Change me back into a human," Harry hissed.

He did. Immediately. The pain from the first transformation had yet to wear off, and the agony was almost too much. He lay on the floor, panting heavily, grinning and laughing, no matter how it hurt.

"I love you," Harry gasped. "You and your potion skills. You're brilliant."

Snape smiled. "I do not disagree. It needs more refinement so you can control when you go into your other form as well, but this is very promising."

Harry closed his eyes and focused on the images of his Basilisk form. "Change me into a Basilisk," he hissed. His heart dropped.

"We already determined this potion does not allow such a change," Snape replied.

"I know," Harry sighed. "I just thought—I don't know. What're going to do next?"

Snape considered. "I require time to think."

Harry tapped his finger on his leg. He'd developed the habit from swishing his tail and couldn't break it. "What if we powdered the bezoar stone instead of chopping it? Wouldn't that make it more potent?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Are you offering to do such a task when you have so much difficulty with merely chopping?"

"If it works it doesn't matter," Harry said. "If you think it's a bad idea, maybe we should brew separate potions, so we can test two theories at once."

"No, whichever we did not use would go bad," Snape replied. "Besides, I believe you may be onto something. We will begin the potion in the morning."

Harry went over and gave Snape a tight hug. Snape stiffened, but patted his back awkwardly. "Thank you," Harry said, then returned to his own couch. "I've got essays to grade, but then do you want to play a game of celebratory chess?"

"I suppose," Snape replied. "As long as you promise not to touch me again."

"You're a strange person," Harry said, summoning the essays. "You only allow physical contact when—"

"Which you are under oath never to speak of," Snape interrupted. "If you intend on having enough time left for chess I highly recommend focusing on your grading."

Harry smiled. "Whatever you say."

**Stop! You have a choice!**

If you want to keep the story as a platonic mentor fic, just keep reading through chapters thirteen and fourteen (the epilogue). If, however, you want to read the romantic Snarry ending, skip ahead to the Chapter Sixteen and start there! It will still say chapter thirteen at the top, since it replaces the platonic mentor chapter thirteen. I'm equally pleased with both endings, and I know my readership is divided, so this is how we're going to keep everyone happy :)

Love!


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **Sorry this is going up so late! I totally forgot it's Monday. My dad is on vacation, and it makes keeping track of days really tricky.

Publishing update: this is the last chapter, and the epilogue will go up on Wednesday. Possibly two epilogues, but either way it'll be done on Wednesday. Friday I'm publishing a Drarry one shot (_A Misunderstanding_), and then next Monday I'll start publishing the next novella, another Drarry Story called _Sidetracked_. After that I think another novella called _An Accidental Allegiance _(provisional title). But that's way in advance, so we'll just have to see!

Also, I've been remiss in saying so here, but **if you have any plot bunnies running around your head that you'd like to see written, PM me!** I can't make any guarantees—there are some pairings and some situations I'm not a fan of (no veela or m-preg, please!), but PM away! I always need bunnies!

And, of course, enjoy the new chapter ^.^

**Please Note:** **This is the platonic mentor ending!** It is a good ending, I like this ending, but there is a **different, Snarry** ending if you would like to read that instead! **Skip ahead to FanFiction Chapter Sixtee**n, and (as soon as it's published, less than a week from 2/11) it will be there waiting for you!

**Chapter Thirteen**

**39**

Harry still hadn't changed by summer, and returned to Spinner's End with Snape at the end of the school year. To be honest, he had almost forgotten about his condition. He spent his days brewing with Snape and nights relaxing. He still saw Ron, Hermione and Neville on a regular basis, and was only a little jealous when Ron and Hermione announced their official engagement. He knew it was only a matter of time, but it made him realize how difficult finding a girl would be for him; Spinner's End wasn't exactly bustling with available girls, nor was Hogwarts.

Harry turned into a Basilisk the week before his birthday. He didn't change back right away, instead spending the night stretched out in Snape's backyard, basking in the moonlight and loving the freedom. The backyard was blanketed in a concealment charm, his eyes were deactivated, and he could change back whenever he wanted. For the first time since the first attack, he felt safe in his snake form.

He changed back when Snape woke up, and they spent the day adding the final touches to the next generation of potion. There was a lot of anxiety that night. They both stood in front of the potion pretending to work on it for several minutes after it was completed, assuring themselves they weren't procrastinating.

"Okay," Harry said finally. "Okay, I'm ready."

Snape poured out a carefully measured flask and handed it to Harry. "There is no reason to get your hopes up," he cautioned.

"Yes there is, stop psyching me out," Harry said, and downed the liquid, followed by a dose of Oculos Ius. They went into Harry's room and stared at each other. "I want to be a Basilisk," Harry hissed. Never had he been happier for the searing pain of the change. He swished his tail over Snape's feet, and then said, "I want to be a human again." He ground his teeth against the pain as he changed back.

Snape broke into a grin. A large, genuine grin. "It worked."

Harry threw himself into Snape's arms, who hugged him back just as tightly. "Merlin fucking Christ, we did it," Harry exclaimed.

"It would appear so," Snape said. "We still have some—"

"Fuck that," Harry interrupted. "We've got nothing left. We did it." And then, unable to contain himself, he burst into tears. "I can't—you—what we—"

"I admit, I cannot find a flaw with the potion," Snape said, resting a hand on the back of Harry's head. "It would indeed seem we have created a success. We need to test how long it works, and will be doing nightly checks, but even if it lasts only a day—"

"I want to call it Vita Salvus," Harry said, interrupting again. "I'm almost certain those are the right words."

Snape nodded. "They are."

Harry tucked himself further into Snape's arms. "I can't celebrate with anyone but you, and I am _so_ in the mood to celebrate. After all this time…"

Snape kissed the top of his head. "Celebrate we shall."

They got very drunk that night. Around two in the morning Harry abruptly changed the topic of conversation.

"Are you my godfather, then?" he asked suddenly. "I mean, tha'ss sort of weird, but we've been livin' together fer, like, two an' a half years, an' you're prack—partic—family, mostly. An' affer what you've done fer me…"

"I believe that decision was up to your parents, not you," Snape replied. "And they chose Sirius Black."

"Yeah but I'm an adult now," Harry said. "I'll be twenny-one in less than a week. My parents are dead and Sirius is dead and I deserve a proper family thing."

"You're very drunk, Harry," Snape replied.

"So're you," Harry accused. "You're usin' concatrions an' everything."

Snape snorted. "Just because I'm letting my speech patterns fall into a less structured—er—structure doesn't mean I'm drunk."

Harry laughed. "Liar." Then his heart squeezed. "You're avoiding. T's all righ'. Never min'."

"I'm merely concerned you'll regret it in the morning," Snape elaborated. "I know what family means to you, and I don't want you to invite me in when you don't mean it."

"Severus, you're not makin' any sense," Harry said. "Aside from your sentenss struck—trucktrure, you know what you mean to me, I think. Why not make it official?"

"Ask me in the morning," Snape said. "And don't call me Severus."

Harry threw a pillow at him. "Uptight bass-turd."

"I'm looking out for you," Snape said. "We'll talk in the morning."

Harry sighed. "You're juss proving my poin'. But fine. Give me back my pillow then."

Snape tossed it over, and conversation returned to the mundane.

When Harry woke up the next morning, Snape was already up. He had stayed downstairs and was reading calmly.

"I want to try it during the day," Harry said, yawning as he stretched. "I don't know why I've only changed at night, and it's probably a bollocks idea to be a Basilisk during the day, but I should know if I can, don't you think?"

"By all means," Snape said, then switched to hisses. "Change into a Basilisk."

Harry did, and he swished his tail in excitement. "This is brilliant," he said. "I have control over this. Actual, real control. And I still want you to be my godfather."

"It only took two years," Snape mused. "If this was not such a secret, it would be quite impressive."

"It's still impressive," Harry said. "Just between us. Yes or no, Severus. I'm not going to hate you if you say no, I just want to know."

"Yes, but I would not mind submitting a paper on the process to _Practical Potions Quarterly_," Snape said. "Just when I think you have surpassed your inevitable daftness, I am once again proven wrong. Do not ask questions you already know the answer to."

This double conversation was starting to confuse Harry, especially since he just woke up. "I'm sorry you're so self-centered you can't appreciate the work for what it is," Harry said. "I wouldn't ask if I knew."

"I do appreciate it," Snape said. "I should not have complained. The answer is the same as most—as long as you keep it to yourself, you may do whatever you please."

"This isn't about me doing something," Harry said. "It's your decision."

Snape groaned. "I despise this sort of conversation. Fine. Yes. Now change back."

Harry changed back to his human form. "I want a potion to make the change painless," he said.

"You have the skills to create such a potion on your own," Snape said. "You do not need my help with that."

Harry stared at him. "You think?"

"What do _you_ think?" Snape asked, slipping into his lecturing voice. "What is causing your pain?"

"Turning into a giant snake," Harry replied irritably. He wasn't in the mood for a lesson.

Snape rolled his eyes. "If you do not wish for my help, do not ask."

Harry sighed. "It's essentially sped up Skele-Grow. Everything is stretching and breaking and moving."

"How do you cure broken bones and other internal injuries?"

"Lenimen Curatio," Harry said. "That's too simple, though, isn't it?"

Snape shrugged. "It is up to you to test."

Harry tapped his fingers. "Okay, then. I'll get to work on that. Or, wait, I guess I should learn how to brew Vita Salvus first."

"A wise decision," Snape replied. "It takes two days to make, but it can be made in bulk, and I do not believe it will go bad."

"Okay," Harry said again. "Let's get started."

**40**

Harry was surprised how quickly he learned to make Vita Salvus. It seemed he actually did know what he was talking about when it came to potions. He had mastered it by his birthday, and was thrilled to have Ron, Hermione and Neville over for birthday dinner and drinks and, for the first time, didn't have to kick him out by eight. They were just as happy as he was, and Harry used the excuse that, at twenty-one, Snape considered him old enough to make his own decisions, and if he wanted to fall behind, that was his choice.

By the time they left around two in the morning Harry was exhausted. Even though he was already in the basement—it was much larger and easier to hang out there than in his room—he dragged himself upstairs to sleep in his proper bed, just because he could.

He was in bed and about to turn out the lights when there was a quiet knock on his door. Eyes mostly closed, still more than a little buzzed, he said, "Come in."

Snape opened the door and leaned against the frame. "How was your first night free from worry?"

"Brilliant," Harry yawned. "Exhausting. I'm in bed."

"I saw your light on," Snape said. "I have a real present for you tomorrow, but, even though it pains me to say it, I know how much it means to you."

Harry frowned to himself. He was tired and drunk, but he still didn't think Snape had actually said anything. "What?"

"We are family," Snape said tightly. "I do not care what label you chose to give me, but I—you and I, we—"

"You can stop," Harry interrupted with a smile. "Thank you. Now let me sleep, would you? I'm fucking exhausted."

"Good night, Harry," Snape said. "And happy birthday."

"Mm, you too," Harry mumbled, closing his eyes, immediately asleep.

Harry, who had forgotten to charm the Firewhiskey hangover free, woke up feeling awful. He stumbled downstairs, pasty and nauseated, unsteady on his feet, collapsing into a kitchen chair.

"Drink this," Snape said, handing him a flask.

Harry did without question, and sighed in relief as the hangover disappeared. "Thanks," he said, setting the flask on the table. "Merlin, that's better."

"I assumed you would not be clever enough to remember on your own," Snape replied.

"You're such an arse," Harry said, though he was smiling. "We're family, Severus?"

Snape had his back to him, cooking. "Don't call me that," he said firmly. "And do not say it like that. In fact, do not say anything at all. I believe I have told you repeatedly how little I like to discuss such things."

"Yeah, fine," Harry replied, unconcerned. "Is that bacon?"

"Such a keen sense of smell, Potter," Snape said sarcastically. "Basilisk senses kicking in?"

"You know I've got them," Harry said.

"You needn't announce such obvious things," Snape replied. "Lest you spend the rest of your life listing all the items in my kitchen."

Harry huffed. "You're in a mood. What's wrong?"

Snape came over to the table with two plates, each filled with bacon, scrambled eggs and toast. "I—" He cleared his throat. "I may have gone overboard with your birthday gift."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Yeah? What'd you get me?"

"I will show you after breakfast," Snape said. "Eat while it's hot."

"You're an arse," Harry said again, digging in. "Don't tease me like that." Harry fidgeted all through breakfast, and even more so as Snape led him outside. "Well?" Harry prompted after a few moments of silence.

"I could not think of something I would rather say less, but I was—" He flinched. "—inspired by your father and his friends."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

Snape closed his eyes. "Happy birthday, Harry." He started to change, and for a second Harry nearly had a heart attack when Snape's nose receded, leaving Voldemort-like slits on his face. But it didn't stop there, and a moment later a python was in front of him, reared up so it was nearly his height. "Do not ask for an explanation," Snape said in Parseltongue. "I really do not wish to discuss this."

Harry muttered to himself, he changed as well, and two giant snakes dominated Snape's backyard. "This is—you—"

"Shut up," Snape hissed. "My job is to watch out for you, and that includes all your forms. If you wish to go out as a Basilisk, I can keep up with you, and make sure you do not get into any more trouble than possible."

Harry slithered over and wrapped the tip of his tail around Snape's, as close to a hug as he could manage. "You're brilliant. Thank you."

Snape changed back to a human. "I do not wish to speak of it," he said. "Now did you want to work on your pain potion, or lie around and do nothing all day?"

Harry told himself to change back, and he did. Excruciatingly. "Yes, brewing," he said. "Really, absolutely brewing."

Harry had a sudden revelation in the middle of lunch.

"Am I moving back to Grimmauld Place now that we've got everything under control?"

Snape's eyes locked with his, then jerked away. "It is your decision."

"No," Harry said. "This is your house. You invited me here so we could work together. Now that I don't need to be quarantined…"

"You are still my apprentice, Potter," Snape said sharply. "Unless you prefer apparating back and forth every day, I recommend remaining at Spinner's End. You are well aware of the hours I expect from you. If going back to Grimmauld Place for a few hours of sleep is worth it, then by all means return. I think it would make your life far more simple to remain here, but I will not force you to do anything."

Harry had to bite back a smile. "I'll just stay here, then."

"Fine."

Harry had the first batch of Lenimen Curatio finished just before dinner, and was eager to test it. He took a draught of Oculos Ius, then a flask of the curative potion, and moved into his basement room before changing. He didn't need to scream, which was an improvement, but he was still wracked with pain.

Snape stood in the doorway. "A success?"

"An improvement," Harry corrected. "It needs to be stronger. And, hmm, I think powdered rosemary."

Snape nodded. "Very good."

Harry changed back, wincing as he got to his feet and returned to his potion station. He set about powdering the dried herb, adding it and stirring clockwise.

"Do you wish to let it simmer, or are you going to try it immediately?" Snape asked.

"Simmer," Harry said, knowing he was being tested. "For—uh—I added three tablespoons of rosemary, which is a dried muggle herb, so each teaspoon needs—bloody hell, what was it?—twenty eight minutes, so that's nine teaspoons, so…252 minutes, or…four hours and twenty minutes."

Snape smiled. "Very good."

Harry smiled to himself. That was twice in one day Snape had complimented him. He set a timer, and they went upstairs for dinner.

The Vita Salvus had worn off when the timer for the anti-pain potion went off. "Eight days," Harry said, taking a draught of Vita Salvus. "And Oculos Ius lasts through a single change. I'm going to be chained to a potions bench for the rest of my life. Never mind teaching, I'll be stuck making sure I don't kill anyone."

"Do not be so dramatic," Snape said, following him into the other room. "You need to learn to brew in bulk, and preservative protocols. Go through the ingredients of each potion. What needs to be added to each to keep them fresh? How will they stand to being frozen? How large a cauldron would you need to brew how much potion?"

"Yeah, yeah," Harry muttered, then hissed, "Change." A pause as he turned into a Basilisk. "Almost," he said. "Just a few twinges. I think I'll add 25 milliliters of horsetail. Merlin, it was stupid not to start with that. Why didn't you say anything?"

"This is your potion," Snape replied. "I have nothing to do with it. All decisions are yours." He coughed slightly. "You may wish to rethink the dosage, however."

Harry thought for a moment. "Right. Muggle doses are irrelevant compared to Basilisk. Er, two hundred milliliters, then. With more on reserve."

Snape nodded. "A better decision."

Harry changed back, added the horsetail, and calculated how long it would need to simmer. Then he cursed himself.

"I've got to get up at quarter of four to take this off the fire."

Snape smiled wryly. "Another lesson learned."

Harry muttered angrily and set an alarm.

On the bright side, it worked.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:**

**STOP!**

Before you read the epilogue, read this.

While I was writing this story I couldn't decide if I wanted it to be officially Snarry, or more of a mentor/student relationship. I ended up being bullied by my mom, who is _not_ a fan of Snarry, into not doing that. The story, as it stands right now, could go either way, depending on how you read it. I love that about it, and it was very on purpose. But for the epilogue, in order to feel like I had wrapped things up, I needed to go in one direction or another. If you have your heart set on this being Snarry (which I don't blame you for, I kinda want it to be too), then DO NOT read the epilogue. Just stop here, and rest assured that Sev and Harry eventually fall in love. On the other hand, if you're neutral, don't ship Snarry or just curious, continue on. There's a chance that some day I might write an alternate epilogue or a sequel that takes the Snarry rout but for now, this is what I've got.

That said, I do like the epilogue quite a bit. I'd never publish anything I don't like. I fully stand behind it, and by Sev and Harry's actions. They're both still very much in the story and very involved in each other's lives, just not romantically.

Whatever you chose, I hope you like it, and know that I've loved sharing this story with you. It's been a blast, guys! Enjoy!

**Epilogue**

**41**

And thus Harry entered the best phase of his life.

He spent the remainder of the summer brushing up on second and third year potions—he'd be taking over those classes as well. Apprentices usually added one year for each year they were teaching, but Slughorn was eager to return to retirement, so Harry's apprenticeship was accelerated.

At least once a week Harry and Snape would walk down to the field Snape had enchanted for flying and spend the night as serpents, just for the joy of being free.

A week before classes started, a very, very nervous Harry took Ron and Hermione aside and told them about his condition. Hermione slapped him, then burst into tears and pulled him into a tight hug, saying she had known all along and couldn't believe it had taken him two years to tell her. Harry was baffled by this, but accepted the reprimand. Ron, who had been told by Hermione years ago, was less physical about it, merely clapping him on the shoulder and saying that he would always be their friend, no matter what. When Harry told them he and Snape had effectively cured his condition Hermione gaped at him, then demanded to see the potions, all the notes they had taken since their first attempts, and had to be cut off—repeatedly—from spending the entire night asking Harry about every little detail. When she heard about Os Grabatum, the potion that rendered his transformations painless, she insisted on taking a flask with her to the Ministry in hopes of getting it patented and out on the market. Harry tried telling her that he only tested it with his changes and not on any actual broken bones, but it fell on deaf ears.

The only way to stop the much too detailed conversation about the potions was to suddenly blurt out that Snape was his godfather and now an Animagus. Hermione rolled her eyes and said she knew that as well; she did work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and she saw all new names added to the Animagus registry. Ron was more than a little disgusted by the fact, but even he had to admit how much Snape had done for Harry, and how close they had become over the years.

Despite a rather embarrassing attempt to sit at Gryffindor table on the first night, Harry's second year of apprenticeship was even better than the first. He lived with Neville in a sort of apartment, sharing just the living room, though that was where they spent most of their time. Harry was very hesitant to tell Neville about himself, as Neville still hadn't fully recovered from being in charge of the Mandrakes, now keeping a few growing at all times, just in case, but when Harry disappeared for the third night in a row, arriving back just as Neville was waking up, he let out an exasperated sigh and said that Ron and Hermione had told him the summer after their eighth year. Harry felt like a complete arse, but Neville assured him it was okay and he didn't blame him, and when he did, he had a small beanbag with a picture of Harry's face that he threw darts at.

Harry still spent a significant amount of time with Snape; Monday, Wednesday and Friday nights were devoted to advanced potion lessons, finally in the comfort of the potions lab instead of the Chamber of Secrets. They went out as snakes at least once a week, keeping to the wee hours of the morning, though even then they inspired a new Hogwarts rumor. It was more of a boogeyman story to scare the first years—if you aren't in your dorm by curfew, the Basilisks will get you. Harry felt guilty about this, but while Snape refused to admit he found it anything other than inane, Harry saw him bite back laughter a few times when the rumor circled back to him.

There was only one big surprise that year—Madam Hooch was retiring halfway through the year. The manager for the Chudley Cannons was forced to retire after taking one too many Bludgers to the head, and she was asked to fill his position. There were great deal of rumors regarding her replacement, and Harry was surprised to hear that one of the least believable was the truth—the former Seeker of the Ugandan team, the Sumbawanga Sunrays, would be taking her place. Namono Kakiri arrived the first day of the holiday so she would have time to adjust to the school before teaching, and Harry was beyond embarrassed by how quickly he fell for her. She was a few years his senior, but not by much—Seekers were known for being the youngest members of the team. He finally worked up the courage to ask her out for Valentine's Day, to which she replied, "About time."

There was only a single slip-up, which occurred in beginning of March. Harry had been too busy with his new relationship to remember to take his Vita Salvus on time—he had been keeping track of the days, he swore, he just thought he had one more to go—but he was with Neville, and, eyes clamped shut, he summoned the potions and changed back. They were both severely shaken by the incident, but emerged unharmed and agreed to never, ever tell Snape, who would have Harry's head if he heard.

That summer was beyond hectic. He lived at Spinner's End, continuing his apprenticeship, but spent as much time off as he could get in Uganda, as well as his weekly lunches and dinners with Ron and Hermione, and going out for drinks with Neville at least once a month.

Harry had been planning on spending winter break in Uganda but ended up getting sucked into Ron and Hermione's wedding plans. He spent the vacation at the Burrow and, to his delight, so did Namono.

Ron and Hermione married on the first day of summer, and Harry proposed to Namono that night.

Three years later Harry replaced Slughorn as Potions Master. His apprenticeship with Snape came to an official end at Slughorn's retirement party, and Harry quietly excused himself to have a cry in a nearby empty classroom. Snape joined him a few minutes later, and Harry was shocked to see that he looked to be holding back tears. They had a long hug and spent even longer talking, ending in Harry forcing Snape to physically state they would remain close, despite Snape's hatred of discussing anything emotional.

Harry and Namono married on the first of July. Snape gave the Father of the Groom toast. He spent the whole time scowling and looking extremely uncomfortable, but Harry couldn't have asked for anything more. It was a small wedding, but Ron, Hermione and Neville were all there, all of the professors of Hogwarts, and Namono's friends and family. Looking around the room, Harry couldn't be happier.

5

5 


	15. Chapter 15: Note!

**Hello Dear Followers!**

This is a note to let you know I'm working on the much-anticipated **alternate ending** to Unexpected Effects! The Epilogue I left you with has a platonic ending, and while I think that has its merits and the story can be read either way, the fact is that it _can_ be read either way, and it ought to have a proper Snarry ending as well.

Here's how it's going to work: I've rewritten chapter thirteen, as well as the beginning of the epilogue under the name chapter fourteen. It's not done yet and I don't want to start publishing until the whole thing is complete so I don't leave you hanging again. Rest assured it will be a quick publishing—I think either one chapter a day, or a chapter on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and the weekends, so it doesn't get muddled up with my other stories. Depending on how long it ends up being, maybe just a weekend, we'll see.

I'm going to keep it in **this story**_**, **_so look for updates **here**. If you're already subscribed then you're golden, but if you aren't and you want to read the alternate ending, click the little button and all updates will be emailed directly to you! Since it picks up with chapter thirteen, I'm going to **leave a note at the end of chapter twelve **giving you, my readers, two choices: if you want to read the platonic ending, go straight to _Chapter Thirteen_, and if you want to read the romantic ending, skip ahead to _Chapter Sixteen_. **It will not be a sixteenth chapter, just where Chapter Thirteen Snarry-style starts. **(please note I originally had a typo that said Drarry, there is no Drarry here, sorry for any confusion, I'm an idiot)

I hope you're as excited about this as I am! I've been meaning to do this for ages, I just couldn't quite figure out how to make it happen. I ended up having a brainstorming session with my dad in the car on the way to the HP Exhibition, and everything clicked into place. I really can't wait for y'all to read it! It'll come up sometime within the week, I'm almost certain. Keep an eye out!

xoxox,

Wolf


	16. Chapter 16: The Beginning of Snarry!

**A/N:** Hey guys! I'm so sorry for making you wait so long, but I promise the end result will be worth it. I'm about 225 pages into this "ending" and every page is packed full of awesomeness. This chapter is similar to the other chapter thirteen because there are things I just couldn't leave out, but there are some very important differences, I promise. I'm going to post this today (duh) and chapter fourteen tomorrow, and then we'll see about a regular schedule. I'm not done with the story yet and I don't want to get you guys all hyped up and then leave you hanging, but since I've kind of already done that, without further delay, here is the beginning of the **Snarry Alternate Ending**!

Enjoy!

**Chapter Thirteen**

**39**

Harry still hadn't changed by summer, and returned to Spinner's End with Snape at the end of the school year. To be honest, he had almost forgotten about his condition. He spent his days brewing with Snape and nights relaxing. He still saw Ron, Hermione and Neville on a regular basis, and was only a little jealous when Ron started talking to him about how to propose. He knew it was only a matter of time, but it made him realize how difficult finding a girlfriend would be for him; Spinner's End wasn't exactly bustling with available girls, nor was Hogwarts.

Harry turned into a Basilisk the week before his birthday. He didn't change back right away, instead spending the night stretched out in Snape's backyard, basking in the moonlight and loving the freedom. The backyard was blanketed in a concealment charm, his eyes were deactivated, and he could change back whenever he wanted. For the first time since the first attack, he felt safe in his snake form.

He changed back when Snape woke up, and they spent the day adding the final touches to the next generation of potion. There was a lot of anxiety that night. They both stood in front of the potion pretending to work on it for several minutes after it was completed, assuring themselves they weren't procrastinating.

"Okay," Harry said finally. "Okay, I'm ready."

Snape poured out a carefully measured flask and handed it to Harry. "There is no reason to get your hopes up," he cautioned.

"Yes there is, stop psyching me out," Harry said, and downed the liquid, followed by a dose of Oculos Ius. They stood frozen in place and stared at each other. "I want to be a Basilisk," Harry hissed. Never had he been happier for the searing pain of the change. He swished his tail over Snape's feet, and then said, "I want to be a human again." He ground his teeth against the pain as he changed back.

Snape broke into a grin. A large, genuine grin. "It worked."

Harry threw himself into Snape's arms, who hugged him back just as tightly. "Merlin fucking Christ, we did it," Harry exclaimed.

"It would appear so," Snape said. "We still have some—"

"Fuck that," Harry interrupted. "We've got nothing left. We did it." And then, unable to contain himself, he burst into tears. "I can't—you—what we—" His only excuse was that he was entirely focused the potion; otherwise there was no way he would do something so stupid. He leaned up on his tiptoes and pressed his lips against Snape's. A celebratory kiss, Harry rationalized.

Heat flooded through him. Excitement and adrenaline and an overwhelming, terrifying sense of rightness spread to every end of his body, everything that had been in pain from transforming was tingling with _Of course. Finally. Thank you_.

Harry broke away as soon as he remembered that he had to. Snape's eyes were wide, staring with disbelief. He didn't look upset, exactly, just shocked. Harry brushed his tears away, laughing nervously. "Sorry. I was, uh—Vita Salvus," he said firmly. "I want to call it Vita Salvus. I checked the Latin dictionary, I'm almost certain those are the right words." He was speaking so quickly it was a wonder Snape understood him at all.

Snape nodded, seeming to clear his mind. He ignored the kiss entirely. "They are. I caution you against getting your hopes up; while I admit I cannot find a flaw with the potion and it would seem we have created a success, there is still much to investigate. We need to test how long it works, and will be doing nightly checks, but even if it lasts only a day—"

Harry pulled Snape into a hug again, the excitement overtaking whatever insanity had momentarily possessed him. He tucked his head beneath his chin as he said, "I can't celebrate with anyone but you, and I am _so_ in the mood to celebrate. After all this time…"

Snape kissed the top of his head. _That_ was a celebratory kiss, not what Harry had done. "Celebrate we shall."

**40**

Harry said he needed a few minutes to himself, so Snape bottled the remaining potion and cleaned their stations. Harry went outside, sitting on the back steps. He forced thoughts of the potion and his condition out of his mind; he would have plenty of time to go over that with Snape tonight. Now he needed to figure out what the hell had just happened and what to do about it.

Harry had known he loved Snape for quite a while. After all they had been through together it would be strange if he didn't feel some sort of attachment. It was the same sort of love he felt for Ron and Hermione, for Dumbledore and Minerva—the sort for a friend, someone who he had been through hell and back with. Of course he loved Snape, that wasn't the issue.

Another sort of love, this sort; it had never even crossed his mind.

Well, that might have been a lie. There was the time when he had leaned against Snape in front of the fireplace, but he'd attributed that to being drunk. The first time Snape had asked him to stay at Spinner's End, when he'd realized Snape did care about him, and for more than the potion. When he had fallen asleep on his lap after his breakdown and the calming draught. Deciding to stay on as Snape's intern, and then that night sleeping together—snuggled on the couch, that was, not _sleeping together_. The times they had referred to each other as family, however vaguely.

So maybe, a few times, it might have occurred to him. Sort of. Fleetingly, that was the word. He had continued to think about girls, or really the lack of girls, but never about the lack of boys. He'd never thought about boys that way. Then again he hadn't really thought about _anyone_ that way in quite some time, but that was because he was busy with being a Basilisk and inventing a cure. There was certainly no reason to think that he hadn't been looking because he'd already found someone.

He didn't love Snape. Rather, he loved him, but he didn't _love_ him.

It was just that kiss.

It was more than a matter of arousing or exciting. It was _right_. It was perfect, a spark, something amazing he hadn't known he'd been missing until now. It was exactly what he had thought at the time—_of course_. The potions were done, his changes were under control, he was teaching and loving it, and the last piece had fallen into place.

_Of course. Finally._

Harry ran his hands through his hair, leaning his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. That was all well and good, assuming he trusted his feelings and didn't attribute this sudden rush of emotion to the sudden potion success. Which he did, because if he'd learned anything in his life it was to trust his instincts, no matter how strange. The problem was that Snape did _not_ feel that way. Family, he had said at graduation. Well, Harry had also said family, but that was—was different, or—he had made a mistake, rather. Snape? Snape did not make mistakes.

What the hell was wrong with him? He finally had a chance at happiness, a shot at normal life, and he had to go and fall in love with Snape.

Only, well. The _Of course_ and the _Finally_ and the _Thank you_.

That wasn't really a sudden falling in love. It was more a sudden realization of a long-term situation. Hermione had always said he was daft about this sort of thing, that he was the last to know when it came to his emotions. It wouldn't surprise him. The problem wasn't surprise. The problem was reciprocity. The problem was ruining his newfound happiness and normality and freedom. The problem was pushing away the one person who cared about him.

The kiss had been perfect.

Harry hated himself. It was just like him to ruin everything at the last minute.

The door behind him opened nearly soundlessly; if he hadn't had Basilisk hearing, he would've missed it entirely.

"Everything is cleared and the alcohol is out," Snape said. "If you need more time—"

"No," Harry interrupted. "I'm good. Celebrating, I want to celebrate." He broke into a grin, and only then did he allow himself to turn around, once he was absolutely certain any other emotions wouldn't show. "C'mon. We cured me. Let's drink."

Snape returned the smile, albeit not with a full-fledged grin. "Let's."

By two in the morning conversation had slowed. Harry was too drunk for chess, they had been over his condition and the implications of the potion over and over again, and now they were relaxing in the basement on their separate couches. Harry was basking in the warmth of the flames—warmth was still hard to come by—and pleasantly sleepy. Not ready to go to bed, just not quite fully there.

"So're you going to explain that kiss?" Snape asked suddenly.

Harry's heart stopped before kicking into overdrive. "No," he replied. "I mean, I was juss' eggsited. Nothin' to esplain."

"Are you certain?"

Harry didn't know how to respond to that. He was too drunk for this. "Yes. Mossly."

"Mostly?" Snape echoed.

Harry frowned. "Stop it. 'M drunk. An' eggsited. An' cured! Now's not th' time."

"So there's a time," Snape replied quietly. "There's something to talk about."

"No," Harry said irritably. "There's nothin'. You've kissed me a few times. New Year's an'—an' today, beckash you're eggsited."

"Not like that."

Harry knew that. He might have been drunk, but he did know that. "Yer wrong." He yawned loudly and snuggled further beneath his blanket. That Severus had gotten him. "'M tired. G'night, Severus."

"Don't call me that," Snape said.

Harry threw his pillow at him to disguise the sudden hurt. This was why he hated himself, because an innocent remark that meant nothing suddenly meant everything. "We're cellybratin'. I c'n call you Severus if I want."

"You can call me Severus when you explain the kiss," Severus replied. "I'm not comfortable with you using my first name when I don't know your motives."

"Leave me alone," Harry grumbled. "'M drunk. So're you. You're usin' concatrions an' everything."

Snape snorted. "Just because I'm letting my speech patterns fall into a less structured—er—structure doesn't mean I'm drunk."

Harry laughed. "Liar." Then his heart squeezed as he remembered what they were arguing about. "'M goin' to sleep, I told you. G'night. _Severus_. An' of course you mean somethin' to me, it'd be weird if you didn'." Utter silence. That's not what he was supposed to say. "The sort of meanin' that means I was cellbraytin'."

"The sort of meaning that means celebrating isn't the same sort of meaning that generates that sort of kissing," Snape replied.

"Severus, you're not makin' any sense," Harry said. "Aside from your sentenss struck—trucktrure, you know what you mean to me, I think. An' what you don' mean. But you're drunk. _I'm_ dunk."

"I'm looking out for you," Snape said. "We'll talk in the morning."

"Then give me back my pillow," Harry replied. "So I c'n get some sleep." Snape tossed it at him, and Harry snuggled back into the couch. "What'd it mean t' you? If yer so inten' on knowin' my every motivashun, I shoul' know yours."

"I have no motivation, I didn't kiss you," Snape said. "I thought you were going to sleep."

"You did," Harry said firmly, just now realizing what it meant. "You did, affer I kissed you. Tha' means more th'n a firs' kiss."

"Go to sleep."

"Why're you sleepin' down here anyway?" Harry asked. "The motives—motivashuns, those, tell me."

"Good night, Harry."

"An' you called me Harry," Harry pointed out. "But fine. 'M tired. An' drunk. G'night, Severus."

When Harry woke up the next morning, Snape was already up. He had stayed downstairs and was reading calmly.

"I want to try Vita Salvus during the day," Harry said, yawning as he stretched. "I don't know why I've only changed at night, and it's probably a bollocks idea to be a Basilisk during the day, but I should know if I can, don't you think?"

"By all means," Snape said, then switched to hisses. "Change into a Basilisk."

Harry did, and he swished his tail in excitement. "This is brilliant," he said. "I have control over this. Actual, real control."

"It only took two years," Snape mused. "If this was not such a secret, it would be quite impressive. We need to talk."

"It's still impressive," Harry said. "Even if it's just between us. No we don't."

"Yes, but I would not mind submitting a paper on the process to _Practical Potions Quarterly_," Snape said. "Just when I think you have surpassed your inevitable daftness, I am once again proven wrong. Of course we do."

Harry had just woken up and didn't feel this was the time for such a conversation. "I'm sorry you're so self-centered you can't appreciate the work for what it is," he said. "If you want to talk, you start."

"I do appreciate it," Snape said. "I should not have complained. I was also not the one who started this, and as such you will begin."

"I'm not beginning anything," Harry replied. "There's nothing to begin. I was excited, I told you. Excited and celebrating and I wasn't thinking clearly because I have control over my form, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Of course I noticed," Snape said. "It is hard to miss a giant snake in my basement. Change back." Harry did, agonizingly. When his screaming subsided, Snape continued. "If there is nothing to begin, why do you refuse a conversation?"

"Because I want a potion to make the change painless," Harry said. "Can't we focus on that?"

"You have the skills to create such a potion on your own," Snape said sharply. "You do not need my help."

Their relationship was slipping away, everything they had accomplished disappearing. Of course Harry had suppressed his feelings, he was ruining everything. "I don't know what to do," he said, not knowing if he was talking about the kiss or the potion.

"What do _you_ think?" Snape asked, slipping into his lecturing voice. "What is causing your pain?"

"Turning into a giant snake," Harry replied irritably.

Snape rolled his eyes. "If you do not wish for my help, do not ask."

Harry sighed. This was his fault, not Snape's. He knew that. "It's essentially sped up Skele-Grow. Everything is stretching and breaking and moving."

"How do you cure broken bones and other internal injuries?"

"Lenimen Curatio," Harry said. "That's too simple, though, isn't it?"

Snape shrugged. "It is up to you to test."

Harry tapped his fingers. "Okay, then. I'll get to work on that. Or, wait, I guess I should learn how to brew Vita Salvus first."

"A wise decision," Snape replied. "It takes two days to make, but it can be made in bulk, and I do not believe it will go bad."

"Okay," Harry said again. "Let's get started."

They did, and the conversation ended before it began.

**41**

Harry was surprised how quickly he learned to make Vita Salvus. It seemed he actually did know what he was talking about when it came to potions. He had mastered it by his birthday, and was thrilled to have Ron, Hermione and Neville over for birthday dinner and drinks and, for the first time, not have to kick them out at eight. They were just as happy as he was, and Harry used the excuse that, at twenty-one, Snape considered him old enough to make his own decisions, and if he wanted to fall behind, that was his choice. It was the perfect distraction, too—he'd spent far too much time wallowing for his own good. He wasn't an angsty teenager anymore, he was twenty-one, and he needed to grow up.

By the time his friends left around two in the morning Harry was exhausted. Even though he was already in the basement—it was much larger, and easier to hang out there than in his room—he dragged himself upstairs to sleep in his proper bed, just because he could.

He was in bed and about to turn out the lights when there was a quiet knock on his door. Eyes mostly closed, still more than a little buzzed, he said, "Come in."

Snape opened the door and leaned against the frame. "How was your first night free from worry?"

"Brilliant," Harry yawned. "Exhausting. I'm in bed."

"I saw your light on," Snape said. "I have a real present for you tomorrow, but, even though it pains me to say it, I know how much it means to you."

Harry frowned to himself. He was tired and drunk, but he still didn't think Snape had actually said anything. "What?"

"I think, given the significance of your birthday, the success of your potions, and your teaching position, it would be appropriate for you to call me by my first name," Snape said tightly.

Harry closed his eyes the rest of the way. Snape thought he knew things and so he was humoring him. The fact that Snape was right about those things didn't help. "If you're sure."

"I am."

"Thank you," Harry said, smiling slightly despite the pain. "Now let me sleep, would you? I'm fucking exhausted."

"Good night, Harry," Snape said. "And happy birthday."

"Mm, you too," Harry mumbled, letting the alcohol take over. He was asleep immediately.

Harry, who had forgotten to charm the Firewhiskey hangover free, woke up feeling awful. He stumbled downstairs, pasty and nauseated, unsteady on his feet, collapsing into a kitchen chair.

"Drink this," Snape said, handing him a flask.

Harry did without question, and sighed in relief as the hangover disappeared. "Thanks," he said, setting the flask on the table. "Merlin, that's better."

"I assumed you would not be clever enough to remember on your own," Snape replied.

"You're such an arse," Harry said, though he was smiling. "I can call you Severus?"

Snape had his back to him, cooking. "Do not say it like that. In fact, do not say anything at all. I believe I have told you repeatedly how little I like to discuss such things."

"Yeah, fine," Harry replied, relatively unconcerned. It didn't mean what he wanted it to, but it was still good, much more than he had any right to expect. "Is that bacon?"

"Such a keen sense of smell, Potter," Snape said sarcastically. "Basilisk senses kicking in?"

"You know I've got them," Harry said.

"You needn't announce something so obvious," Snape replied. "Lest you spend the rest of your life listing all the items in my kitchen."

Harry huffed. He was supposed to be the one who was upset, not Snape—er, not Severus. That would take some getting used to. "You're in a mood. What's wrong?"

Severus came over to the table with two plates, each filled with bacon, scrambled eggs and toast. "I—" He cleared his throat. "I may have gone overboard with your birthday gift."

Harry raised his eyebrows. Now that it had started, he couldn't unstart it. Everything was overanalyzed, the most innocent of things were turned into something huge. "Yeah? What'd you get me?"

"I will show you after breakfast," Severus said. "Eat while it's hot."

"You're an arse," Harry said again, digging in. "Don't tease me like that." He fidgeted all through breakfast, and even more so as Snape led him outside. "Well?" Harry prompted after a few moments of silence.

"I could not think of something I would rather say less, but I was—" He flinched. "—inspired by your father and his friends."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

Severus closed his eyes. "Happy birthday, Harry." He started to change, and for a second Harry nearly had a heart attack when Severus' nose receded, leaving Voldemort-like slits on his face. But it didn't stop there, and a moment later a python was in front of him, reared up so it was nearly his height. "Do not ask for an explanation," Severus said in Parseltongue. "I really do not wish to discuss this."

Harry muttered to himself, he changed as well, and two giant snakes dominated Severus' backyard. "This is—you—" This really was more than anything he could have asked for. For the first time since that stupid, idiotic kiss, he thought things might be okay with Severus.

"Shut up," Severus hissed. "My job is to watch out for you, and that includes all your forms. If you wish to go out as a Basilisk, I can keep up with you, and make sure you do not get into any more trouble than possible."

Harry slithered over and wrapped the tip of his tail around Severus', as close to a hug as he could manage. He was almost as thankful for the unsaid explanation than the gift—Severus didn't feel any way about him other than a guardian. Harry wasn't thrilled, but he knew, knew for sure, and that would have to be okay. "You're brilliant. Thank you."

Severus changed back to a human. "I do not wish to speak of it," he said. "Now did you want to work on your pain potion, or lie around and do nothing all day?"

Harry told himself to change back, and he did. Excruciatingly. "Yes, brewing," he said. "Really, absolutely brewing."

Harry had a sudden revelation in the middle of lunch. An unpleasant revelation.

"Am I moving back to Grimmauld Place now that we've got everything under control?"

Severus' eyes locked with his, then jerked away. "It is your decision."

"No," Harry said. "This is your house. You invited me here so we could work together. Now that I don't need to be quarantined…"

"You are still my apprentice, Potter," Severus said sharply. "Unless you prefer apparating back and forth every day, I recommend remaining at Spinner's End. You are well aware of the hours I expect from you. If going back to Grimmauld Place for a few hours of sleep is worth it, then by all means return. I think it would make your life far more simple to remain here, but I will not force you to do anything."

Harry had to bite back a smile. "I'll just stay here, then."

"Fine."

Harry had the first batch of Lenimen Curatio finished just before dinner, and was eager to test it. He took a draught of Oculos Ius, then a flask of the curative potion, and moved into his basement room before changing. He didn't need to scream, which was an improvement, but he was still wracked with pain.

Severus stood in the doorway. "A success?"

"An improvement," Harry corrected. "It needs to be stronger. And, hmm, I think powdered rosemary."

Severus nodded. "Very good."

Harry changed back, wincing as he got to his feet and returned to his potion station. He set about powdering the dried herb, adding it and stirring clockwise.

"Do you wish to let it simmer, or are you going to try it immediately?" Severus asked.

"Simmer," Harry said, knowing he was being tested. "For—uh—I added three tablespoons of rosemary, which is a dried muggle herb, so each teaspoon needs—bloody hell, what was it?—twenty eight minutes, so that's nine teaspoons, so…252 minutes, or…four hours and twenty minutes."

Severus smiled. "Very good."

Harry smiled to himself. That was twice in one day Severus had complimented him. Their relationship was going to be fine. Harry set a timer, and they went upstairs for dinner.

The Vita Salvus had worn off when the timer for the anti-pain potion went off. "Eight days," Harry said, taking a draught of Vita Salvus. "And Oculos Ius lasts through a single change. I'm going to be chained to a potions bench for the rest of my life. Never mind teaching, I'll be stuck making sure I don't kill anyone."

"Do not be so dramatic," Severus said, following him into the other room. "You need to learn to brew in bulk, and preservative protocols. Go through the ingredients of each potion. What needs to be added to each to keep them fresh? How will they stand to being frozen? How large a cauldron would you need to brew how much potion?"

"Yeah, yeah," Harry muttered, then hissed, "Change." A pause as he turned into a Basilisk. "Almost," he said. "Just a few twinges. I think I'll add 25 milliliters of horsetail. Merlin, it was stupid not to start with that. Why didn't you say anything?"

"This is your potion," Severus replied. "I have nothing to do with it. All decisions are yours." He coughed slightly. "You may wish to rethink the dosage, however."

Harry thought for a moment. "Right. Muggle doses are irrelevant compared to Basilisk. Er, two hundred milliliters, then. With more on reserve."

Severus nodded. "A better decision."

Harry changed back, added the horsetail, and calculated how long it would need to simmer. Then he cursed himself.

"I've got to get up at quarter of four to take this off the fire."

Severus smiled wryly. "Another lesson learned."

Harry muttered angrily and set an alarm.

On the bright side, it worked.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** Another new chapter! Two days in a row, because I love you guys so much. The encouragement and kind and excited words have done wonders for my soul (even if I'm still having some writer's block issues). Again, no guarantees about a regular schedule, but you have not been forgotten!

Enjoy!

**Chapter Fourteen**

**42**

Harry spent the remainder of the summer brushing up on second and third year potions—he'd be taking over those classes as well. Apprentices usually added one year for each year they were teaching, but Slughorn was eager to return to retirement, so Harry's apprenticeship was accelerated.

At least once a week Harry and Severus would walk down to the field Severus had enchanted for flying and spend the night as serpents, just for the joy of being free. It wasn't perfect, but it was good. Harry resigned himself to good. Good was—well, good. Really good, actually. Almost none of his life had been anything even approaching good, and he knew he didn't have anything to complain about. Everything was under control, even if he didn't have the fairytale ending by getting the man. That was fine.

A week before classes started, a very, very nervous Harry took Ron and Hermione aside and told them about his condition. Hermione slapped him, then burst into tears and pulled him into a tight hug, saying she had known all along and couldn't believe it had taken him two years to tell her. Harry was baffled by this, but accepted the reprimand. Ron, who had been told by Hermione years ago, was less physical, merely clapping him on the shoulder and saying that he would always be his friend, no matter what. When Harry told them he and Severus had effectively cured his condition Hermione gaped at him, then demanded to see the potions, all the notes they had taken since their first attempts, and had to be cut off—repeatedly—from spending the entire night asking Harry about every little detail. When she heard about Os Grabatum, the potion that rendered his transformations painless, she insisted on taking a flask with her to the Ministry in hopes of getting it patented and out on the market. Harry tried telling her that he only tested it with his changes and not on any actual broken bones, but it fell on deaf ears.

The only way to stop the much too detailed conversation about the potions was to suddenly blurt out that Severus was now an Animagus. For Harry, because of his birthday. Hermione rolled her eyes and said she knew that as well; she did work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and she saw all new names added to the Animagus registry. Ron was more than a little disgusted by the fact, but even he had to admit that it was a sweet gesture.

Harry's second year of apprenticeship was better than the first. He lived with Neville in a sort of apartment, sharing just the living room, which was where they spent most of their time. Harry was very hesitant to tell Neville about himself, as Neville still hadn't fully recovered from being in charge of the Mandrakes, now keeping a few growing at all times, just in case. But when Harry disappeared for the third night in a row, arriving back just as Neville was waking up, he let out an exasperated sigh and said that Ron and Hermione had told him the summer after their eighth year. Harry felt like a complete arse, but Neville assured him it was okay and he didn't blame him, and when he did, he had a small beanbag with a picture of Harry's face that he threw darts at.

Harry still spent a significant amount of time with Severus; Monday, Wednesday and Friday nights were devoted to advanced potion lessons, finally in the comfort of the potions lab instead of the Chamber of Secrets. They went out as snakes at least once a week, keeping to the wee hours of the morning, though even then they inspired a new Hogwarts rumor. It was more of a boogeyman story to scare the first years—if you aren't in your dorm by curfew, the Basilisks will get you. Harry felt guilty about this, but while Severus refused to admit he found it anything other than inane, Harry saw him bite back laughter a few times when the rumor circled back to him.

The Wednesday before winter holidays during Harry's nightly potion lesson, halfway through a very long and rather dull explanation regarding the history of calming draughts, Severus cut himself off mid sentence.

Harry glanced up from his notes. "I was listening," he said. "The calming effects of lavender were first noticed in the Middle Ages when it was used as a condiment, and—"

"Are you coming to Spinner's End for the break?" Severus interrupted, meeting Harry's surprised eyes.

"Um," Harry replied intelligently. "I, uh, hadn't planned on it. I was going to stay here, but if you think I should, I wouldn't mind."

Severus shook his head, nothing more than a jerk to the left. "No. If you are staying here, that is your decision. As I was saying—"

"No, wait," Harry said quickly. "Are you? Going home, I mean? Don't you usually stay here?"

"For the first time in many years I have nothing holding me to the castle," Severus replied. "There are more than enough staff remaining to keep watch over the handful of students staying behind. I would enjoy the chance to brew at home in my real lab."

"Do you want me to come?" Harry asked, heart leaping into overdrive. "I'm not a reason to hold you here, but you want me to go home with you?"

Severus' eyes flashed. "I did not say that."

Harry smiled slightly. "Severus, really. After everything we've been through, I know how to read you. Sure, of course I'll spend the holidays with you."

"Fine," Severus replied sharply. "Where was I? Your infernal interruptions are no more welcome in private lessons than the classroom."

Harry's smile widened. There was something strangely comforting about Severus insulting him and blaming him for things that weren't his fault. "Condiments."

Harry had a bit of a panic getting ready for three weeks of vacation with two days notice, but he was relatively prepared by the time he and Severus left on Saturday. Severus refused to admit he wanted Harry to come with him, instead treating him like a burden the same way he always did, but Harry was so used to it he hardly noticed.

Being at Spinner's End wasn't much different than Hogwarts. Harry didn't have Neville to keep him company, but he got to brew far more than he would have if he'd been spending his time with a Herbology professor. Harry and Severus spent most of their days brewing, the vacation turning into an extended lesson, which spawned a few fights about holidays being holiday-like and not school, but for the most part they got along fine.

Harry wasn't sure how it happened, but they didn't spend the night as snakes until Christmas Eve. They had a late dinner that night, and instead of going back down to the basement Harry went outside, stretching out and relaxing as a Basilisk. It was cold, even colder as a reptile, but he didn't mind, at least not at first. The moonlight on his scales, the fresh air flowing through his altered lungs, the feel of just being.

The wind picked up, and Harry curled around himself, not ready to go in yet. He knew it wouldn't help, that he didn't generate his own body heat, but it felt like it would help. With closed eyes out beneath the moon, everything else melted away. As much as he enjoyed brewing, he had been looking forward to the break he wasn't getting. He was putting off both his grading and his planning for the coming term, and the nervousness of undone work was starting to encroach. His feelings for Severus hadn't changed or lessened, and while Harry had no difficulty hiding them or pushing them back, spending every waking moment with the man was starting to grate on him.

Basilisks didn't have to brew potions, they didn't have teaching duties, and they weren't in love with their mentors.

Well. They were. But the other things, those were true.

"It's Christmas." Harry opened his eyes. Severus was standing in the doorway, studying him. "I find such notions foolish, but it is past midnight and I know these things matter to you."

Harry smiled, as much as Basilisks smiled. "Thanks for the heads up."

Severus shoved his hands into his pockets and looked up at the clear sky. "Do you believe the date involves company?"

"Tomorrow, of course," Harry said, still smiling. "Weasleys, Longbottoms, then back here with you. Tonight I free you of holiday obligations."

Severus remained in the door. "It has been a while since I have been a snake."

Harry had to bite back laughter. "Y'know, you're right. It's Christmas, I need company. Stay out here with me."

"It is far too cold to be outside," Severus replied. "If you are so desperate for company, I will be in my study."

Harry gaped. "Are you inviting me into your study?"

"Of course not," Snape replied irritably. "You may fetch me from my study if you need to, at which point we would adjoin to the basement."

Harry changed back into a human. "Basement it is. I was getting cold anyway."

Severus rolled his eyes. "If you insist."

"You need to learn to ask for what you want," Harry said, following him inside. "Coming here for break, spending Christmas Eve with you—I don't mind. I like you, your company." That was a little close, but not too close, probably. "All you have to do is ask."

"I am not asking for anything," Severus replied stiffly. He paused in front of one of the cabinets in his lab. "Firewhiskey, finely aged scotch, or relaxation draught?"

"Whatever you want," Harry replied, heading into the basement room. He brushed his hand across Severus' back without thinking, then almost tripped over himself. It was Christmas Eve, Severus had been asking to spend time with him, and Harry was feeling affectionate. Combining that with alcohol was maybe not the greatest idea. "Relaxation draught," he called over his shoulder as he walked into the other room.

Severus joined him a moment later with two carefully measured glasses. He sat next to Harry, apparently hell bent on giving him a heart attack by the end of the night, and handed him one of the glasses.

"Cheers."

Harry clinked the glasses together. "Cheers." The familiar taste of lilacs, and then all his tension drained away, both physical and emotional. He hummed quietly, settling into the couch. He grabbed his woolen blanket—he'd brought it home from Hogwarts with him—and draped it over himself.

"This blasted room refuses to warm," Severus muttered, reaching for the blanket. It was large enough to cover both of them without a problem, but Harry was relaxed and happy, a combination which tended to make him silly.

"No," Harry said, pulling the blanket back. "If you want to share, you'll have to ask."

Severus glared at him. "You are very small and the blanket is very large."

"Mhm," Harry replied, not relinquishing his hold.

"I am cold, and it is Christmas."

Harry smiled. Severus' logic was slipping. "Then ask."

Severus mumbled something under his breath that Harry didn't catch. "May I use the two thirds of the blanket I bought you that you are not underneath?"

"Sure," Harry said amicably, holding it up so Severus could join him. "I don't even make you ask nicely, I just want you to admit that you're the one asking."

"Insufferable brat," Severus replied.

"Hmm, so it's Christmas," Harry mused. It occurred to him that relaxation draught wasn't much better than alcohol, and that he didn't particularly care. "That calls for physical contact, yeah? Isn't that what we've decided?"

"An unnecessary tradition," Severus said. "One that ought to be broken."

"I'd rather not break it, if that's okay," Harry said. It would be the first time they'd had extended contact since the kiss incident, and while Harry knew it was dangerous territory, he wanted it very much. "I'm short on traditions."

Severus let out an annoyed huff. "So you say. Fine. Come here."

Harry shuffled over, expecting to be allowed to lean against his shoulder and nothing more. Instead Severus was holding his arm open, and Harry ended up snuggled against his chest. He sighed in happiness. His body, mind, and soul were pleased.

_Of course. Finally. Thank you._

"I've missed this," Harry said stupidly. "I mean, we still spend a lot of time together and everything, but—"

"We do not live together anymore," Severus finished. "I am aware." His arm was draped loosely around Harry's waist, but it tightened slightly at his words. "It's different."

Harry smiled to himself. "You used a contraction."

"Shut up." Severus lengthened the couch into a chaise, and they moved so they were lying down. As far as Harry was concerned, this night could last forever. "I have been thinking. These extended days of brewing are good for you, pushing you back into action and out of the comfort of teaching beginning potions. Starting next term, you will spend Saturdays with me as well."

Harry tapped a finger against his chest, the habit so engrained he didn't notice. "But Hogsmeade. And I've got papers to grade and lesson plans to make."

"If I can manage with a full course load, then so can you," Severus replied. "You are a professor, you may go to Hogsmeade whenever you chose. Saturday is irrelevant."

Harry frowned. "Yeah, but that's when everyone else goes, and Ron and Hermione and I meet up sometimes, plus everything closes early on weekdays."

"Then you will learn to manage your time better, a skill you have been far too lax in learning," Severus said. "In two years you will be teaching full time, a position you cannot acquire without becoming a Potions Master. You will be tested and, if you pass, registered with the Ministry. Teaching preadolescent idiots will get you nowhere."

Severus had only mentioned the title once or twice, and suddenly two years seemed like a very short time indeed. "Um, yeah, okay. Saturdays are fine."

"For Merlin's sake, stop your bloody tapping," Snape said suddenly, grabbing Harry's hand and holding him still. "I understand you are short a tail, but surely you can stay still under the effects of a relaxation draught."

Harry blushed. "Sorry. Force of habit."

"It is annoying enough when on a table or with your quill, but I draw the line with my person," Severus said, and Harry noticed that his hand hadn't been relinquished. His heart started pounding and he was acutely aware that if his palms started to sweat, Severus would be the first to notice.

"My feet are sticking out," Harry stated, which was true. He was warm enough given the fireplace, body heat, and blanket, but now seemed like a good time to mention his feet. "Can you widen the chaise bit? I can't get my feet under the blanket like this."

"Why you cannot perform an extendable charm on your own I will never know," Severus remarked dryly, though he did. "As soon as you are on the couch all spell casting duties fall to me. Just because you are lying down does not mean you are no longer a wizard."

"But you'll do it if I ask," Harry replied, stretching his legs out, maybe a little closer to Severus' than he had to.

"I spoil you so," Severus said, and Harry would have bet a hundred Galleons that he was rolling his eyes.

"Hey, I'm here," Harry replied. "I'm spending break with you and I've turned back to spend Christmas with you. The least you can do is give me a little leg room."

"Saturdays will be dedicated to inventing potions," Severus said. "Your apprenticeship will continue as is, but you must learn how to create your own as well."

"Yeah?" Harry asked, tilting his head up so he could see Severus. The angle was awkward, bringing their legs into contact, digging his elbow into Severus' stomach, and causing their faces to be much closer than Harry anticipated, making the rest of his thought quite difficult to remember. "What sort of potions?"

"The sort that have yet to be invented and thus cannot be explained," Severus replied, looking at Harry as though he were an idiot. "Kindly remove your elbow from my organs before I expire."

Harry lay back down, and once again his hand was taken, held firmly in Severus'. Harry swallowed dryly.

"To prevent a relapse of tapping," Severus said at Harry's silence.

"Yuh," Harry replied, then cleared his throat. "Yeah. Sorry, I've really got to get that under control." He rearranged his thumb slightly so it wasn't bent quite so uncomfortably, accidentally ending up so it was resting against Severus' fingertips.

Harry took a moment to assess the situation. Bodies pressed flat together, touching from head to foot. Holding hands, fingers touching, an arm wrapped firmly around his. Underneath a shared blanket. Going to sleep together.

Harry swallowed again. This was not going to be an easy night. A perfect Christmas, maybe, but not one with a lot of sleep.

Holding hands? Really?

He could get around the rest, but _really_? He knew that his tapping could be irritating, Severus had mentioned it before, so maybe his excuse was valid, but _really_?

Harry wondered how far he could take it. Stupid Gryffindor reflexes, always needing to push. But he had been so good, and it was Christmas, so maybe it would be okay. Severus' hold on his hand was tight, but with some maneuvering he managed to slide his pointer finger between Severus' pinky and ring finger. It was stupid, it wasn't like their fingers were laced together or anything, but he wasn't being rebuked.

Feeling an awful lot like a teenager holding hands for the first time, Harry carefully hooked his pinkie around Severus' pointer. Still no comment, no moving of hands, nothing to indicate that he should stop. Or go any further, but Harry focused on the first. He decided his intentions were obvious and he had given Severus enough time, and that he was being really bloody ridiculous about the whole thing, so he just went for it, inserting his fingers between Severus', properly holding hands in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with tapping. There was a brief moment of panic when Severus moved his hand, but he was just rearranging to a more comfortable position, still keeping their fingers together.

Harry let out a quiet pent up breath.

He also got braver.

Harry stretched his legs again, which wasn't terribly suspicious. It was another habit he'd developed from being a Basilisk, trying to lengthen himself in his human form. When he relaxed he bent his leg just slightly, just enough so his knee was very carefully not on Severus' leg but also not precisely not on his leg. He was being ridiculous again, but Severus wasn't stopping him, and he'd spent six months being so good, holding everything back, needing and wanting and craving and not having. It was Christmas, and he was going to push, and if that got him in trouble he'd just blame the potion and the holiday and Severus for asking him to cuddle in the first place, and everything would be fine.

Harry casually draped his leg over Severus' as if it was nothing. He decided that if he continued with the slowly sneaking it would be suspicious, but all in one movement, that was the same as Severus holding his hand, or even wrapping an arm around him in the first place. Just a casual movement that didn't mean anything. He waited with bated breath to be yelled at, kicked off, told never to touch him again, but none of those things happened.

Instead, Severus shifted. It could have been an innocent shift meant to get more comfortable, or he could have nuzzled Harry's head with his cheek. Against all odds, Harry thought probably the latter. He didn't know how to test the theory, though, nor could he think of any ways to push further without doing something drastic and irrevocable.

"Sev?" he asked quietly, not having any idea of what he was going to say.

Severus groaned, the sound rumbling delightfully through his chest. "You will never, _ever_ be granted permission to call me that."

Harry bit his lip. "Severus, then?"

Severus sighed. "What? And do not ramble, I am tired and wish to sleep."

Harry found the idea of sleeping like this laughable. "Merry Christmas."

Hardly daring to believe his luck, Severus brushed Harry's fringe off his face with his free hand and kissed his forehead. "Merry Christmas. Now sleep."

**43**

Harry didn't register that he was awake at first. He was curled up in Severus' arms, legs twined together, still holding hands—though not the same hand, Severus had switched partway through the night. This wasn't a dream? It didn't seem like it. On the other hand, he was hungry and the clock said it was almost noon, so that pointed towards being awake. It also meant he had to get up if he didn't want to be late for Christmas at the Burrow.

Harry was not particularly interested in getting up, so he didn't. He rationalized that it was Christmas, and he had a right to give himself this as a gift. Besides, Severus would no doubt wake up any minute, he never slept this late, and without relaxation potion on his side, he'd be yelled at and leaving as quickly as possible would be extremely advantageous.

So he'd just stay in Severus' arms for another few moments and enjoy the feeling. Like how his fingers were rough from years of brewing, and his arm comfortingly heavy, and how warm he was, especially given Harry's reptilian tendencies.

"Don't you need to be somewhere?"

How deep his voice was, and how his chest vibrated as he spoke.

"Yeah, eventually," Harry replied, tongue darting out to lick his lips nervously. "I'm still tired though. Groggy, y'know, from the relaxation draught. I assume that's why you're still in bed?"

"Combined with being physically held down," Severus said sarcastically.

"You could've gotten up anyway," Harry replied, tapping his finger against Severus' hand.

"I am aware of what I can and cannot do," Severus said. "Stop tapping."

Harry stilled his finger. Lying like this, wrapped in and around Severus, did not go well with staying completely still, he was too antsy. "Sorry." The silence started to stretch on, and he thought he might be going crazy. How on _earth_ did he manage to sleep like this? Merlin. He needed to say something, anything, otherwise he was going to explode. "Your Christmas gift is in my room."

"Shall I release you so you can fetch it?" Severus asked.

Dammit. Not the right thing to say, then. "Er, no." That wasn't enough. "Still tired. I can summon it, though, if you want."

"I do not see how I can be expected to open a gift while lying like this," Severus replied.

"Yeah, never mind," Harry muttered, feeling like an idiot.

There was pause, and then Severus asked, "Will I ever be allowed to move again?"

Harry started to tap again before forcing himself still. "Um, yes. Maybe not yet, though." What was he doing? Merlin, he needed to shut up, and now. Everything about this was suspicious, suspicious because of him, and he needed to get his act together. That might involve sitting up, but he would just have to live with that. Never mind the Weasleys expecting him, _Severus_ would be expecting him to get _off_.

He would, too, if it weren't for their hands. Not that he didn't enjoy—could he really call this cuddling? He supposed so—but they had fallen asleep together before, however infrequently. It was their fingers twined together, holding hands as if they always did, that he couldn't give up yet. On the other hand, it wasn't something they always did, and if Harry knew anything about how to deal with Severus, it was not to push him.

Harry sat up, not particularly thrilled with himself. It would be fine, he knew that, it was just everything he had been pushing away sort of sneaked up to the foreground and he needed to let it go again. Disentangling himself from Severus was the first step in doing that. He felt every movement as Severus' arm dropped from his shoulder, his hand slid free of Harry's, and Harry retrieved his leg from between Severus'.

He also felt Severus's hand, the one that had been around his shoulder, come to rest gently on his lower back.

Harry ran a hand through his hair under the guise of waking up and attempting to smooth away any bedhead. It wasn't like anything was strange or abnormal, of course not. Weasleys, he was going to see the Weasleys, that was what he needed to focus on.

"I've got to get dressed," Harry said. "Get everyone's gifts together and stuff." He turned so he was facing Severus, who was looking at him like he always did: with mild annoyance and vague—_very _vague—interest. "We're still celebrating tonight, right? When I get back from Neville's?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "I will humor your oversentimental appreciation for an unremarkable day in December, yes."

"Okay, good," Harry replied, smiling slightly. Severus was the same as he always was—except for the hand on his back. "Though we had relaxation draught last night; I know it's tradition and all, but there must be side effects, yeah?"

"Not particularly," Severus replied. "I would not recommend using it every day, but I would hate to interrupt your precious tradition due to your inane need to celebrate two days in a row."

"You were the one who wanted to do something last night," Harry said. "But yeah, tradition's good." The fact that he was terrified of what he'd do or say was in no way relevant, probably. "I'll see you tonight?"

Severus let his hand drop. "Do not hurry home. I have plenty to do that would not benefit from your presence."

Harry hid his smile as he got up. Severus' inability to admit he wanted company or cared what Harry was doing or where he—

Wait. What? Home? _Do not hurry home_. Not _my_ home, not _Spinner's End_, but home. Harry paused in the doorway to the lab, a sudden, stupid idea demanding to be acted on.

"Do you want to come?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder but not fully turning around. "To the Burrow, I mean, and—"

"You're an idiot," Severus snapped. "There is nothing I would enjoy less. Not only do I have a life outside of you—which I already said, clearly you have yet to learn to listen—I am finally, _finally_ free of every last Weasley. The last thing I desire is to be in a pathetically small room overflowing with blinding red hair and poorly knit jumpers. As for Longbottom, I see more than enough of that bumbling fool at school."

Harry didn't know what he had been expecting, but that was definitely the only possible reaction. "I'll tell them you say hi," he replied with a smile.

"You will not!"

**44**

Christmas at the Burrow was even better than usual. Fleur and Bill announced they were expecting their first child, which caused Harry to burst into laughter. It took him a few minutes to calm down long enough to explain what Severus had said about no more Weasleys, and how he would react to the news—on Christmas, no less—that there was another generation on the way. Then George accidentally proposed to Hermione on Ron's behalf, or at least he claimed it was accidental. He and Ron got into a shouting match over whether or not Ron told him he was proposing on Christmas Eve versus New Year's Eve while the rest of the family watched on in shocked silence. Eventually, after the shock wore off, Hermione interrupted by pulling Ron into a bone crushing hug and telling him that it didn't matter who proposed when because of _course_ she would marry him. The combination of a new baby, an engagement, and Christmas resulted in a very loud, extraordinarily festive and slightly alcoholic lunch and gift giving.

Harry departed for Neville's a little before six, arriving just in time for dinner. Like last year, he was still rather full from Mrs. Weasley's feast, but he managed a helping of Mrs. Longbottom's not-quite-but-almost-as-delicious dinner. The three of them sat by the fire afterwards eating Christmas treats and attempting to play a game of chess, though it ended up being Neville's grandmother versus herself, given how much advice she was giving.

After the game Neville asked Harry to look over his curriculum, despite Mrs. Longbottom's protests that he shouldn't be working on Christmas. Harry, who was relatively certain there was something else he wanted to talk about, assured her that he didn't mind, and the two went to Neville's bedroom.

As soon as the door was closed, Neville turned to him, arms crossed.

"What's going on with you and Snape?"

Harry stared at him, last night and this morning's events flashing through his mind before remembering Neville didn't know about those. He frowned in confusion. "What're you talking about? Nothing, he's my teacher, that's all."

"Everyone assumes I'm daft about emotional stuff because I'm not dating," Neville replied. "I'm not. I watch, and I listen, and while I don't know what, there's something between you two. Eighth year was pretty much the same as always, then last year this thing started, and at first I thought it was just the mentoring and the Basilisk thing, but it's not. You live together during the holidays, you spend all your spare time together, and he smiles around you."

"No he doesn't," Harry replied blankly. "And, um, none of that other stuff is true either. Of course we spend a lot of time together, I have lessons with him four days a week, and Slughorn is useless at teaching how to be a teacher. Besides, we go out as snakes, you know that. It's not like I can do that with anyone else."

"Four times a week?" Neville asked. "Since when?"

"Oh, er, yesterday," Harry replied, stammering a little. "I've got to become a registered Potions Master, he's increasing my lessons. You spend time with Pomona. It's the same thing."

"It's not, but never mind that," Neville said. "Why're you at Spinner's End for break?"

"So I'm not at Hogwarts by myself," Harry said, which wasn't exactly a lie.

"He lets you call him Severus," Neville replied.

"I'm a professor," Harry replied resolutely.

"No, you're an apprentice," Neville corrected. "So am I. He doesn't call me by my first name."

"Well I'm sorry but he doesn't like you!" Harry exclaimed. "I don't know! The Basilisk thing, I guess. Why? What's all this sudden questioning about?"

"I was just wondering," Neville replied. "He smiles. It's disturbing."

"He absolutely doesn't smile," Harry said firmly. "He hasn't smiled once during break. He doesn't leave time for smiling. I'm chained to my cauldron all day being lectured and tested. He's not spending time with me, he's torturing me. There is no free time."

"That's how he spends time with people, by torturing them," Neville replied. "If he didn't care he wouldn't bother. And he doesn't torture you, not if he lets you call him Severus, which he does."

"It doesn't matter what I call him, I still haven't had a moment to myself all break," Harry replied, crossing his arms. He was feeling very defensive.

"That's my point," Neville replied. "Why are you even there? Have you spent any time at Grimmauld Place since the Basilisk thing?"

"Of course I have," Harry said irritably. Then he paused. "Well, no. But I don't like Grimmauld Place, it reminds me of Sirius. It's big and lonely and filled with paintings that yell and books that scream and things I've never seen before that try to kill me."

"Hogwarts isn't," Neville challenged.

"I'm learning!" Harry said. "I've got twice as many classes to teach as you, and I've got to get registered before I become a full on professor. I need to spend time with him."

This was a very bad time for this conversation. Harry still couldn't get the feel of Severus' hand in his out of his mind, or the comforting warmth of sleeping against him. He hadn't talked to anyone about his feelings and he wasn't about to start, only if Neville didn't get off his back very soon, he didn't think he'd be able to help himself.

"Are you doing something stupid?" Neville asked bluntly.

Harry tapped a finger against his arm. "No."

"You're tapping," Neville said. "You tap when you're nervous, everyone knows that."

"I tap all the time," Harry snapped. "I'm not doing anything and neither is he."

Neville was silent for a very long time. "My point, the reason why I wanted to talk to you, was to tell you that it's not necessarily stupid, what you're doing."

Harry stared at him. "I'm not doing anything," he repeated. "What you're talking about, that would be stupid. But I'm not doing anything."

"Well if you were, as long as you were careful, it might not be stupid," Neville replied. "I wouldn't, y'know, get your hopes up or anything, but something is happening, and not just to you. Or from you, or whatever. The stupid thing, that's not just you."

Severus holding his hand. Asking him to Spinner's End for the holidays. Coming to find him at midnight to tell him it was Christmas.

"Nothing stupid is happening," Harry replied firmly.

Neville shrugged. "If you say so. Though I'm going on record as saying the longer you avoid it, the stupider it'll get."

"Duly noted," Harry said irritably. "Curriculum?"

Neville waved his hand. "I went over it with Pomona before I left."

"Then come on, I want another game of chess," Harry said. "With you, not your grandmother."

Neville rolled his eyes, smiling slightly. "We can try."


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** So I guess I'm on a weekend publishing schedule? I've had some troubles with the Muse and the Writing and such, but I'm still working on it. I'm on chapter twenty-five now, I believe? Consider this the real continuation of the story, with the non-Snarry version being the alternate.

I'm so glad you guys are enjoy this! I'm in love with it, and I hope you are, too. I've got lots of fun and exciting things coming up, but you will certainly enjoy this chapter!

**Chapter Fifteen**

**45**

Severus was in his study. Harry hated bothering him when he was in his study. Especially when it was almost midnight and he might be asleep. Harry felt a little guilty for coming back so late, but he and Neville had gotten themselves embroiled in a particularly vicious chess tournament, and it hadn't ended until Harry remembered he was due for Vita Salvus at midnight and didn't have a vial on him. He took the potion before disturbing Severus; the last thing he needed was to break down his door by turning into a Basilisk.

Eventually he knocked. It was only the second time he had even touched the door. "Severus?"

"Come in."

Harry nudged the door open, afraid to do more than stick his head through the crack. Severus was sitting in the same black leather chair Harry remembered from last Christmas, reading an old book. "I know it's late but I'm back, so if you want to do gifts and relaxation draught and stuff, I'm around."

Severus nodded. "I told you, come in."

In, in? In, as in inside the room, in? Harry sneaked around the door, feeling very much like he was intruding. Severus' study was much as he expected; books lined the wall, shelves and shelves of ancient, dissolving texts. A large desk stood on the opposite wall with a window behind it, letting in grey winter light. The chair was in front of a small fireplace, the only other chair in the room behind his desk.

"I don't want to—I mean, interrupting—your space—" Neville's words kept bouncing around his head, making thinking very hard.

Severus raised his eyebrows. "Your inability to form a coherent sentence is not as endearing as you seem to believe. The shelves next to you, the top three to the left of the door."

Harry turned and looked at the books. The first three were standard Hogwarts textbooks: _Magical Drafts and Potions_, _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_, and _Advanced Potion-Making_. Then _Moste Potente Potions_, and Harry was pretty sure it was the copy that had been confiscated from the Hogwarts library, the one he, Ron and Hermione had used second year. There were the books he and Severus had used as references for the Basilisk potions and the books Severus was using to teach him now. The second half of the second shelf and the third were filled with books Harry didn't know. He looked at Severus.

"What is this?"

"Your Christmas present," Severus replied. "Keeping your books tossed haphazardly around the basement, the lab, and your room is an offense to the art. While I have no control over your actions in your flat at Hogwarts, or your office when you have one, I can make sure you treat your books with the proper care and respect they deserve while you are my apprentice."

Harry stared at him in shock. "Shelves?" he asked. "Shelves, in your study?"

"Mind you do not think of it as anything but," Severus replied. "It _is _my study, and you are forbidden from even looking at anything beyond those three shelves. When we return to Hogwarts, your shelves will be moved to my lab until I can trust you to take proper care of your belongings, or you become a professor and I no longer have a say in the matter."

"So I can, er, come in?" Harry asked. "Into your study?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "I am not holding your books hostage, Potter. They remain yours, and you have access to them."

"Thank you," Harry said dumbly. "Thanks. A lot. I, um. Your gift, it's not—goddammit Severus, you keep getting me things like becoming an Animagi and letting me into your study, how am I supposed to compare?"

Severus smirked. "You are not. I will always be better and more impressive than you. Consider it a gift to myself."

Harry smiled weakly. "Yeah, right. Of course. Well still, I've got yours." He summoned the gift and it landed neatly in Severus' lap. "Neatly wrapped again. I had the shop do it."

"Hardly impressive," Snape replied dismissively as he unwrapped the package. Harry didn't bother being nervous; there was no way his gift could match what Severus had gotten him so there wasn't any point in worrying. It had seemed like a good gift, but no, not anymore. He looked on with mild interest as Severus exposed the plain, wooden box and opened it, revealing seven compartments, each with a small sample of the different varieties of truffle. They were rare and expensive, some of them had to be imported from America, and they could be cooked and eaten or used in potions or simply bragged about, if Severus was in that sort of mood. The whole outfit had cost him an unreasonable number of Galleons, and it didn't matter because Severus had organized his books.

"These will be very useful," Severus said, closing the box. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Harry replied. "It's not—but good, I'm glad you'll be able to use them."

"Do not concern yourself with reciprocity," Severus said. "I enjoy your gifts. You know I would not lie to spare your feelings."

"Okay," Harry replied, smiling slightly. "So relaxing draught? Or should I let you read?"

"No, we will drink," Severus said, putting his book away—sending Harry a pointed look as he did—and leading them downstairs. "Your traditions may be foolish, but they are important to you."

"This is more ours than mine," Harry said, a little nervously. "You started it, actually. Our first Christmas together."

"Merlin, don't say it like that," Severus snapped. "There is no 'our'."

Harry's stomach twisted angrily as Severus poured them servings of the potion. "Then why am I here? You invited me. I had Christmas with the Weasleys, Christmas with the Longbottoms, and now Christmas with you. Our Christmas. With our traditions."

Severus shoved the tumbler into his hand. "You talk too much," he stated. "You always have. We have shared Christmases out of necessity, and I found spending the day with someone was not as unpleasant as I anticipated. Drink."

Harry drank the potion and set the glass on Severus' station before leading them into the basement room and collapsing onto his couch. "Bill and Fleur are having a baby."

"Who?" Severus asked irritably, sitting at the end of the couch by Harry's feet.

"Bill Weasley and his wife Fleur," Harry said. "You know her, from the Tri-Wizard tournament. She's pregnant."

"Ah yes, the incompetent one," Severus replied. "Why are you telling me this?"

Harry smiled. "You'll have another Weasley in your classroom. Not for a while, but eventually."

Severus groaned. "That is not a relaxing Christmas thought."

Harry's smile widened into a grin. "Sorry. What is a relaxing Christmas thought? I didn't think you even knew the definition, let alone had any of your own."

"I don't, but I know the prospect of an additional Weasley is not one," Severus replied.

"What about Ron and Hermione getting engaged?" Harry asked, grinning.

Severus winced. "Don't."

Harry found he didn't have anything to say about his time with Neville. Almost nothing. "Chess?" he asked. "Neville and I got into a cutthroat war, and I'm still feeling competitive."

"I should have gotten you a chess set," Severus said, summoning his and setting it up with a wave of his wand. "My pieces suffer far too much violence at your hands. Have you never heard of a civilized beheading? There are ways of killing beyond bludgeoning."

Harry laughed. "But nothing so satisfying. Are you staying over here?"

"I can command as easily from this couch as the other," Severus replied. "Pawn to e4."

Harry stretched his legs, a genuine stretch, and the fact that his feet ended up on Severus' lap was unintentional. "Pawn to e5. You've become affectionate. It's weird."

"I most certainly have not," Severus replied sharply, directing a second pawn forward.

"Whatever," Harry said easily. He was relaxed, and Neville thought something strange was happening. He was content with Severus denying it. They played for a while, Harry making sure to destroy Severus' pieces as thoroughly as possible, though the distraction resulted in losing. Harry became less content as it became clear he was going to lose, and he broke the silence as Severus reset the board.

"Things have changed, y'know."

Severus glanced at him. "What things?"

"Between us," Harry said, knowing he was digging his own grave and finding he couldn't stop himself. "Since we started working together."

"I have grown used to you and you are not as incompetent," Severus replied. "Are you surprised? Relationships evolve."

"Mm, but my feet are on your lap," Harry said, trying to keep the nerves out of his voice.

Severus closed his eyes for a moment before locking gazes with Harry. "Are you aware of where this conversation will go if you continue to push the matter?"

Harry's heart raced. "No. I'm just saying. We're close."

"You kissed me," Severus replied. "Pawn to e4."

Harry froze. He thought Severus had forgotten. "It was celebratory," he said.

"No, it was not," Severus insisted. "Make your move."

"Pawn to e5," Harry replied. "So what was last night? Celebrating a holiday you hate and won't admit is worth celebrating in the first place?"

"It was for you," Severus said. "Knight to f3."

Harry's heart twisted. Was it really? Had Severus only allowed what contact they had to placate him? The hand holding, that was—it wasn't pitying. "I thought you were keeping me from tapping. Knight to c6."

"I never said I was not," Severus replied. "Bishop to c4."

"You did, you said it was for me," Harry said, ordering a random pawn forward, no longer paying attention to the game. "Why would you think I'd want that?"

"You have always pushed for physicality," Severus replied, continuing with an actual strategy than Harry's random movements.

"Not out of pity," Harry said angrily, taking his feet back. "Merlin, Severus. Is our entire relationship pity? I know you're not my biggest fan, but you've said you cared about me, you've asked me to spend the holidays with you, you—you do things and you say things."

Severus looked at him, and Harry had to work to meet his gaze. He was blushing, but he thought that could be excused by awkwardness. "As do you."

"That's what I'm saying," Harry replied. "Things have changed."

A few moments of silence. "What are you looking to hear?"

Harry let out an imperceptible sigh. "Nothing, sorry." He looked at the board and moved a bishop. "It's the holidays. I get sentimental. You know that."

Severus captured his bishop. "You may put your feet back."

"No, not to pacify me," Harry said. "I'm fine. I do want physical contact and I do want someone to care about me, but because they want to, not out of obligation. The war is over, my Basilisk form is under control, there's no reason for a relationship of any kind. Pawn takes bishop."

"Do you think I don't know that?" Severus asked, and there was something in his voice Harry couldn't identify. "You are more than capable of taking care of yourself. You have your friends and your surrogate families, you do not need me."

"Of course I do," Harry replied quietly. "That's the thing, that's what I was saying. Things have changed, and I need you. I don't need you because I don't have anyone else, I need you because you're you. That's why I can't put my feet back, because I need you and you only care because—I don't know."

"Fucking Merlin," Severus muttered. "Potter, don't start—you know I don't talk about this sort of thing. Words are irrelevant; intention is all that matters. So put your goddamned feet back."

Harry had no idea how to feel about that. "You didn't give me a reason to." He looked at the chessboard. "Whose move is it?"

"Yours. My words implied intention, for Merlin's sake." Severus' jaw was clenched, but Harry thought—probably—that was a reason, so he stretched out again and put his feet on Severus' lap.

"Right. Uh." He studied the board. "I just took your bishop, it's your turn."

Severus frowned. "You did?" He let out an exasperated sigh. "This is why I don't speak of such things. Rook takes pawn."

"Because it screws up chess?" Harry asked. "We could pause the game and have a real conversation."

"Don't even suggest such a thing," Severus replied. "Make your move."

Harry was about to do something, he thought maybe with his queen, when Severus rested a hand on his feet. That was intention. He didn't know what the intention was, but it was positive. It had to be. He blinked. "Queen to b7. Check."

Against all odds, Harry won the game. He was amazed; his concentration was shot, which could only mean that Severus just as lost in thought as he was. It also meant Severus insisted on another game, as he refused to go to sleep directly after losing. The third game was mostly quiet, interspersed only with talk of potions. Harry lost again, and declined a fourth game.

Rather, he yawned as Severus asked. "It's been a long day, and two relaxation draughts. Time for sleep."

Severus waved his hand, sending his chess set back to its rightful place, and moving the coffee table off to the side. Harry frowned, sleepy enough that he didn't understand the implications.

"What're you doing?" he asked, stretching and standing.

Severus raised his eyebrows. "You are dedicated to your traditions, yet you plan to sleep alone in your room on Christmas?"

Harry stared back. "After what we said—or what you didn't say, really—you're offering to spend the night with me."

Severus winced. "Don't say it that way. How is it you always phrase things as difficultly as possible?"

"Because I need to be clear about what you're saying," Harry replied. "I'm blunt and bullheaded and a Gryffindor, and I need you and your _difficult_ Slytherin self to stop slinking around and get to the point."

"I do not slink," Severus said irritably. "Yes, that is what I am offering."

"All right, yeah, I'd like that," Harry replied, heart pounding wildly again. He sat back down, lifting his feet in preparation for the chaise. Instead the whole couch changed beneath him, turning into a bed. Harry was flooded with confusion and need and love and _idiocy_.

"I'm much older than you, I can't sleep on a couch two nights in a row," Severus explained.

"You're using contractions for the second night in a row," Harry stated, kicking his shoes off and sliding beneath the blankets—a sheet and a bedspread as well as the woolen blanket.

"Relaxation draught two nights in a row," Severus replied, joining Harry. "Perhaps you were right, maybe it was a mistake."

"No," Harry said nervously, not sure what to do with himself now that they were officially going to bed together rather than happening to fall asleep on the couch. "Relaxing is good, especially for you. You need to relax more. We've done nothing but brew and study and learn all vacation. Two nights not focused on work isn't a mistake."

"Anything that increases your need to talk is a mistake," Severus replied. "Especially two nights in a row. I can only handle so much of your incessant rambling before going insane. Are you going to come over here, or was the transfiguration a waste?"

Harry shuffled carefully into his arms, not knowing what to expect. Definitely not that he would immediately be moved so he was half lying on Severus the same way he had been the night before, an arm wrapped around his chest, or that Severus would twine their legs together, or take his left hand in his right and wind their fingers together, or that his left arm would support Harry's neck, brushing the hair off his forehead before coming to settle at his waist.

No, that was definitely not what he had been expecting.

Harry thought sleep was probably off the table. He had thought that last night, true, but after what Severus had said about intentions, there was no hope. Harry was fine with the concept that words didn't matter in the face of intentions, but actions might have been a better word, though of course actions could have a whole variety of intentions behind them, which he thought was probably Severus' point. It's just that words really did matter when intentions weren't clear, because otherwise how were they going to become clear, and this seemed like one of those times when intention really, really mattered.

"Is this because—"

"Shut up, Harry."

Harry did, biting his lip. Severus waffled between his first and last name depending on the circumstance, and the use of his first, especially when earlier he had been strictly Potter, that meant something. Harry didn't know what, but definitely something.

He realized for the second night in a row he was sleeping in his day clothes. The blankets, the fire, and Severus' body heat kept him warm enough that he didn't need his flannel pajamas for warmth, but the point was the button on his jeans was digging uncomfortably into his skin in exactly the same spot it had been last night. Also, he hated sleeping in socks. At least those were easier to fix, though it did involve a lot of squirming, especially given how Severus was holding him and that one of his legs was between Severus'. Halfway through the second sock Severus finally spoke up.

"What on earth are you doing?"

Harry flushed. "Taking off my socks," he muttered, hooking his toes beneath the band and trying to maneuver the sock past his heel. "They make my feet feel fuzzy."

Severus let out a quiet puff of air that Harry thought was probably a suppressed laugh. "I see. Does anything else need to be removed?"

His heel finally relinquished the sock and Harry flung it off the bed and halfway across the room with the force of his surprise. "Um. No. I mean, well. This isn't how I usually sleep, but it's fine." Before Severus had a chance to say anything he rushed on. "I have flannel bottoms, they're comfier than jeans, that's all."

Severus said something under his breath, and suddenly Harry's jeans had been replaced with his flannel pajamas, the ones he could always tell were his by the frayed bottoms from late-night walks through the castle and a small hole in the knee from sitting to close to the fireplace and being burnt by an exploding knot.

"Now will you stop moving so I can sleep?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, rather dumbfounded. "Yeah, sorry for bothering you." It took a minute before he realized he should say something about Severus' clothes, which was particularly uncomfortable because Harry had no idea what he slept in even after living together for three years, and so had no idea how appropriate it was. "You can change too, if you want."

"How kind of you to grant me permission," Severus replied dryly.

But now Harry's curiosity was peaked, as well as a more magnanimous concern for Severus' comfort. "It's just that, well, I didn't want to say anything, but…" He trailed off, only half faking the stammering. "Your buttons? They're right beneath my ear, and they're not really comfortable."

Severus heaved a sigh. "You are far too demanding," he said, but Harry was rewarded, frankly amazed that it had been so simple. He had been prepared to reel off a long list of reasons as to why Severus should change, but no, apparently a button in the ear was all it took.

On the other hand, Harry was absolutely not going to sleep. Severus was as covered as always in long bottoms and long sleeves, only now he was wearing a single layer of black silk, and it was extraordinarily distracting. Not only was it slippery and smooth against Harry's skin, but it was _thin_, and while it wasn't in a position to feel anything, he thought he probably could be without too much difficulty.

Harry was not going to allow himself that option, nor was he going to let Severus see—or feel, rather, since they were under blankets—how much Harry enjoyed his sleepwear. He shifted, rearranging himself so he wasn't quite as close, and while that was a shame, at least there wasn't a chance of certain body parts that were suddenly taking a keen interest in the situation would be noticed.

"I was under the impression you were done squirming," Severus said wryly.

"I am," Harry replied, raising his finger to tap against Severus' hand before remembering that wasn't okay. "Just getting comfortable."

"It's impossible to sleep with you wiggling around," Severus said, then smoothed his hair again, which entirely negated his angry tone. "Not only are you a physical hazard, but your hair keeps dislodging itself and fluttering into my face."

Harry smiled slightly. "Sorry. I can move if you want. You're the one who brought up this tradition, not me."

"If you would _stop_ moving it wouldn't be an issue," Severus replied irritably. Apparently satisfied with Harry's hair he returned his hand to his waist, and Harry was almost sure he purposefully brushed his fingers along his side before settling down, but only almost.

The thing, Harry realized, was that it was very hard not to fall asleep like this. He was too warm and comfortable and _of course_.

**46**

Harry woke up alone on the couch. He would've assumed last night had been a dream were his jeans not neatly folded on the coffee table. If he had changed into his pajamas and not remembered, his jeans would be in his room, or at least in a crumpled pile on the floor.

And if he hadn't found Severus brewing in _his_ pajamas. Harry licked his lips and swallowed; even from behind, he looked incredible. Black silk certainly suited him.

"So what're we making this morning?" Harry asked, standing next to Severus and blinking blearily at the cauldron. "Pepperup? Really?"

"_I_ am making Pepperup," Severus replied. "Your assignment is at your station."

Harry examined his ingredients. "There aren't any instructions," he said. "Or a name or anything."

"You must learn to recognize a potion from ingredients alone," Severus replied. "I am going to dress and make breakfast. If you brew correctly, you should be at a stopping point when the food is ready."

He swept out of the room, leaving Harry to nervously start what he thought was probably a Girding Potion. Probably.

Beyond the change in his lessons, nothing changed. He'd come down to ingredients laid out and no instructions, and make do as best he could. It came down to small mistakes, for the most part; he knew what to make, only were Shrinking Solutions supposed to have one rat spleen or two, and how many puffer fish eyes went into a Swelling Solution? These were things he knew perfectly well, things he had taught, but without the safety of a recipe and the tension of Severus testing him, he found it much more difficult to concentrate.

They still ate together and played the occasional game of chess after dinner. Once Harry dared to retrieve his copy of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ from Severus' study, who told him sharply to return the book when he was done with it and otherwise didn't acknowledge what Harry felt was a very brave and difficult act.

There was no talk about what happened on Christmas.

New Year's Eve fell on a Monday, and Harry was planning on spending the day going over everything he needed for the coming term. His intention was to brush up on any potions he didn't remember and finally get started on grading the heap of essays that he had yet to even unpack, let alone look at.

Instead he came downstairs to find his station already set up.

"No more lessons," Harry said, gathering the porcupine quills and starting to put them away. "I've got to work."

The quills flew out of his hand and back over to the bench. "You may work when the potion is complete."

Harry glared at Severus, who had his back to him. "I've been putting it off too long as it is. I've got essays, and I need to look up poison antidotes for the third years."

"It is not my fault if you have fallen behind," Severus replied. "You are aware you are a student as well as a professor, and—"

"And it's break and I'm not having lessons over break!" Harry interrupted. "I'm relaxing and on vacation, not that you could tell it from what you've had me doing." Severus remained quiet as Harry took a deep breath, rubbing his temples. "Look, I like brewing, and I even like our lessons for the most part, but I've got other things I need to do." He waved his wand, returning the ingredients to the apothecary. Severus hated when he used magic on ingredients, but Harry thought he'd forfeited that right by forcibly removing the quills from his hands.

"Neglecting your lessons is your choice," Severus said stiffly.

Harry didn't respond. He went into the other room and opened his book to antidotes. He stared moodily at the page for a minute before calling out, "It was an Elixir to Induce Euphoria. You start with the peppermint until it's red, shrivelfig until it's turquoise and stir until it's blue, then—"

"You have proven your point, Potter," Severus said, cutting him off. "If you choose not to brew what I have set out for you, at least focus on what you are doing."

Feeling a little better, Harry returned to his book.

After dinner Harry switched over to grading. What he really wanted to do was go out in the moonlight and change, but Severus' backyard was pitiful, and even the nearby field was tiny compared to the grounds and Forbidden Forest. Besides, he was going back to Hogwarts on Saturday, so he only had to wait another five days for real freedom.

Alternatively, he only had five days to grade papers and finish preparing, as well as squeezing in whatever Severus wanted him to do. He stretched out as much as he could and set to work, telling himself if he finished one classes worth of papers he could spend the rest of the night relaxing. It was New Year's Eve and he could be a Basilisk if he wanted to.

If he finished his work.

Severus joined him an hour or two later, and Harry was chagrined to see that his pile of essays was much larger than his own, and still half done. He didn't point it out, knowing what the response would be: "Manage your time better." Severus graded while his potions were simmering, planned lessons over breakfast, didn't have to do any practicing for teaching because he was the bloody Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, of course he wouldn't, and still managed to have free time at the end of the day.

Harry glanced at the clock. It was almost nine. He silently bet himself a chocolate frog that Severus would be done for the night by midnight.

At least they were on the same couch.

Harry smiled to himself as he went back to his papers.

He wasn't really sure if he won or lost the frog since the bet was with himself, but Severus did stop grading around quarter of midnight. Harry expected him to go to bed but instead he summoned a book and read, staying where he was. Harry glanced at the title and silently cursed him; he was rereading _Moste Potente Potions_, the first edition Slughorn had gotten him for Christmas last year. It wasn't that Harry would've preferred reading it to grading, but the idea of reading anything for pleasure was one Harry greatly resented if for no other reason than he wouldn't have to correct a book.

He had a paragraph left when the clock over the mantel started ticking. Harry jerked up in surprise, leaving a large, red blot on the parchment.

"It's almost midnight, Harry," Severus said, sounding bored. "No need for panic."

Harry winced. Of course it was. Merlin, he had been grading for too long. He set the essay and quill down and stretched, watching with mild interest as the second hand drew closer to midnight. He was trying to decide if this was an excuse to stop working for the night when a trumpet sounded and confetti burst over the fireplace, disappearing before it reached the ground.

He turned back to his essays. He really ought to finish at least this class. If he got through one class a day, then he'd only have one left at Hogwarts, and if he finished preparing in time and if Severus wasn't too demanding, maybe he could have Sunday off and go to Hogsmeade with Neville or hang out in the teacher's lounge or do absolutely nothing and just relax.

Harry pulled the essay back over, sighing. "Happy New Year," he said somewhere between dutifully and sarcastically. "Cheers to last year's work, this year's work, and all the coming year's of work."

"You are even less enamored of the new year than I," Severus remarked, sounding amused. "Last year you were all but in tears over Vita Salvus, and now you complain about work. This night is no different from any other."

"It feels dramatic," Harry muttered, though his stomach started twisting nervously. Last year was also the first time Severus had kissed him, though of course it was only on the forehead. If Harry had planned it, he probably could've gotten away with another kiss, even if it was just on the forehead or cheek. He sighed loudly. "Fuck it, I'm done working tonight. I don't care if I get behind, I don't want to start out my year like this." He sighed again. "Then again, maybe starting out productively would be a good omen." He ran his hands through his hair. "Merlin, I don't know."

"Harry, the fact that this minute happens to occur in a different year is irrelevant," Severus said. "What you do this moment will not effect the rest of your life. The fact that it is late and you are clearly tired and irritable is a far better reason to put your work aside than the date changing."

Harry was feeling very worked up, the combination of the New Year, all his work, the kiss he had missed and Severus using his first name proving too much. He swept the essays into a basket he conjured just in time to catch them, and leaned back. "Fine. I'm done for tonight." He paused. "Why are first years so bloody _stupid_?"

Severus smiled. "At last you understand."

"I understood last year," Harry muttered. "Maybe the question is why are last year's first years _still_ so stupid?"

"Potions is a subtle science and—"

"Exact art, I know," Harry interrupted, though he started to smile. "Not many will understand. But really, have they got to be such idiots about it?"

Severus sent the basket of essays out of the room. "Stop thinking about work. Relax. As you have so frequently pointed out, you are on vacation. What were you planning on doing with your free time?"

"I don't remember," Harry replied. "I've got a headache, I should just go to sleep."

Severus frowned slightly. "I do not like to see you upset on a holiday. It is paramount to a sudden declaration of allegiance to the Dark Lord."

Harry laughed. "That's not going to be a problem, promise. And really, this whole holiday thing is new. Before I came to Hogwarts I spent holidays locked in a broom cupboard. I might be whining about having things to do, but at least I can do them wherever I want."

Severus' frown deepened. "I do not wish to hear of you in such a situation. It was hard enough when you were confined to the Chamber at night, never mind a cupboard for eleven years."

Warmth flooded through him. "I didn't know you cared," Harry said lightly, trying not to make a big deal out of it because Severus would close off completely if he realized they were talking about _emotions_.

"Of course you did," Severus replied tightly.

Harry didn't, but he wasn't going to push the matter. He knew Severus cared about him, yes, but not that he'd thought about what his life had been like before Hogwarts, and definitely not that he actively avoided thinking about it.

"Okay, well, it's the New Year," Harry said, sitting up and facing Severus. "It's a holiday, so I insist on making a big deal about it. Champagne?"

Severus winced. He looked disgusted, but at least no longer upset. "I despise champagne."

"We've already had confetti," Harry mused. "Noise makers?"

Severus flinched. "Please. I thought you had a headache."

He had a point. "I don't know," Harry said, exasperated. "What do people do on New Year's? You're right, last year I complained, and then we sat around reading. I suppose I could fetch a book if you want."

"If that is how you wish to spend your holiday, by all means," Severus replied.

Harry didn't understand what was happening. "Do _you_ want to celebrate?" he asked.

"Absolutely not," Severus said.

Harry was actually tired and he really did have a headache, but there was clearly something that he was supposed to do. "If I'm celebrating, I want to play chess," he said firmly. "One game, and then I'm going to bed. Even if you lose."

"I won't," Severus replied. He summoned the set and draped the wool blanket over himself. "White or black?"

"White," Harry said automatically. "I'm cold too. Mind if I share?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "It is your blanket, I cannot prevent you from using it."

"You're so kind," Harry replied with a small smile, scooting over and sliding under the blanket. "Pawn to d4."

"You always begin with a pawn," Severus remarked. "Knight to f6."

"I don't like starting with knights," Harry replied. "Pawn to c4."

"You would benefit from proper lessons rather than late night casual matches," Severus said. "Pawn to d6."

"I don't have time for more lessons," Harry said. "I'm teaching and learning to teach already; chess is for fun. But fine, if you want me to move a knight, knight to c3." He yawned, slumping back against the couch. "I'm tired. Please don't make me learn."

Severus smiled slightly. "Pawn to e5. I promise not to make any attempts to increase your intelligence."

"Thanks," Harry said, smiling back. It suddenly occurred to him that Severus was, in fact, smiling. Neville had been right, at least about that. Severus never smiled, but he was smiling now. Harry's next move was more than a little haphazard.

"If you are truly too tired to play, we do not have to continue," Severus replied, moving his bishop in place to take Harry's knight. "I have the advantage, it would be a win in my favor."

Harry frowned. "You do not." He stretched as he considered his next move. "Pawn takes bishop. How'd you miss that?"

"Queen takes pawn," Severus countered. "Check."

Harry cursed. It was easy enough to get out of, but still. The first check of the game coming so quickly was embarrassing. He readjusted himself, stalling as he thought. He supposed it was intentional on some level, but he accidentally settled much closer to Severus than he meant. After much too long he moved his knight between the two pieces.

A few moves later Harry gave up and leaned against Severus, though it was more of a snuggling than a leaning. He wasn't pushed away, and after that he focused much better on the game. Just as the game was drawing to a close, Severus wrapped an arm around him, drawing him closer. Harry missed his move entirely.

"That's a new strategy," Harry said, mostly joking. "Exploiting my need for physical contact to win a chess game."

"I am appalled at how little you think of me," Severus replied. "Your move."

"Maybe, but I'm right," Harry said before ordering his rook forward.

Severus advanced his knight. "You are not."

"But you're above things like _talking_ so we're just going to pretend this isn't happening, right?" Harry asked, feeling brave. He captured Severus' queen. "Check."

"Shut up," Severus said irritably. "King to b6."

There wasn't any point in pressing the matter. Harry returned his focus to the game, and he won by an impossibly small margin. He watched anxiously as his knight demolished Severus' king, beating it until the piece turned to dust.

"I told you, stop being so hard on my chess set," Severus snapped, waving his wand and returning his pieces to their former glory, though the king did have a new chip in his helmet. "I will not play you again until you buy your own."

"You've said that before," Harry replied with a small, nervous smile. "I don't believe you."

Severus glared at him. "Try me."

Harry thought that was a rather bold thing to say to someone who was curled up against his side, wrapped in his arm. "You're just bitter you lost," he replied. "I'm going to bed, I'm exhausted."

"You've said that before," Severus echoed.

"Well I am," Harry said, though he was still very uneasy and didn't think now was a good time to get up. "I'm going to bed."

"So go," Severus said, only it sounded like a challenge.

Harry remembered what people did on New Year's Eve. He turned Severus so they were facing and brushed his lips against his cheek, lingering just slightly longer than he should have. "I know it's after midnight," Harry said, pulling away and trying really, _really_ hard not to blush. "But you've been asking about traditions, so happy new year."

Severus gave him a bizarre, impenetrable look. "I feel so blessed," he said caustically. "You were going to bed?"

"Yeah," Harry said, removing himself from Severus' arms and standing. "G'night, then." He paused. "Assuming holiday traditions have been tradition-y enough?" He tapped his finger against his leg. He needed to remember to think before he talked.

"More than enough," Severus replied tightly.

"Right. See you tomorrow." Harry left, wondering exactly what had happened.

**47**

Harry spent the rest of the week working on his curriculum, grading, and, when he had time, brewing with Severus. Not actually with him, because Severus still had him brewing from ingredients sans instructions. They didn't talk much, though the silence wasn't exactly uncomfortable. Harry found time to go to Diagon Alley and pick up his own chess set and broke it in Wednesday night with a truly catastrophic loss.

When Harry went down to the lab Friday morning he found ingredients set up as always. At first he thought his lack of understanding was due to having just woken up, but as the minutes slipped by and he still had no idea what they were supposed to be, his confidence slipped.

"I have no idea what this is," he said eventually. He was already nervous from going back to teaching in a few days, and this didn't help him feel competent.

"Figure it out," Severus replied.

"I've tried," Harry said, almost whining. "Really. Billywig stings and daisies don't go together, I'm positive."

"Perhaps not yet," Severus replied lightly.

Harry's jaw dropped. "You—you want me to invent something? On my own. Now. With these ingredients."

"Potion Masters are expected to do such things," Severus said.

"Yeah, but…" Harry trailed off, once again going over the ingredients. "Can I have a hint as to what I'm supposed to make?"

"Make whatever you desire," Severus replied.

Harry didn't want to. Especially not today, not when he was only half packed, still had a pile of essays to grade and was feeling incapable of doing anything, let alone inventing his own potion. "You thought today was a good time for me to do this?" he asked.

"The earlier you start the more prepared you will be," Severus said. "You have done this before, Harry. Examine the ingredients. Dwell on their properties. What would benefit from that particular combination?"

Harry conjured a stool, sat, and stared. For a while. He moved the piles around, grouping them one way and then another, trying to decide how to start. He took a break to finish packing and have an early lunch, then returned to his bench, flicked on the flame and started on what he hoped would be a sort of magical champagne. He tried to work through dinner but Severus made him stop to eat. Harry added the juice of three currants before he was physically dragged upstairs. He fidgeted all through the meal, mind on his potion, and practically leaped down the stairs.

His potion was simmering beautifully and gave off a tart but sweet smell. Exactly what he had been hoping for. Harry grinned. He turned the heat down further and practically floated over to Severus, looking over his shoulder into his cauldron.

"Draught of Peace?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?" Severus asked.

"Telling," Harry decided. "Clear turquoise, that's Draught of Peace."

Severus nodded. "Good."

Harry went into the other room and went to work grading. His potion had another hour of simmering before he needed to do anything, and for once he had the will to grade without feeling like punching someone. He only had a few left, and when his timer went off, he only had half an essay to go. He could get that done tomorrow over breakfast and be free when he got back to Hogwarts.

And, well. A few days ago he had kissed Severus' cheek and he hadn't been yelled at. He hadn't been anything-ed at, but that was better than a screaming match or an ill-fated conversation like they'd had on Christmas. Probably. In any case, he had planned this kiss, and had a much better memory of it than the July kiss. Severus' face had been soft beneath his hand and warm beneath his lips, his skin a little dry but pleasantly so. Harry decided it was enough to last until next New Year's, if only because it had to be.

Harry returned to his cauldron, gave it a few quick stirs, and added the peppermint. Still going well. He grinned, and relaxed.

Relaxing wasn't a good idea. His mind wandered, and he didn't know exactly what happened but stirring had gotten more difficult, and when he looked down he was no longer greeted with the sight of a happily bubbling, mildly alcoholic drink. He had sludge. Dark, unhappy sludge. He stared at it for a few moments in a panicked shock before sprinting over to the apothecary and grabbing a vial of pomegranate juice, and when the potion immediately turned to a hardened cement, at least he knew why. He had added the juice too quickly, and stirred in the wrong direction.

It was amazing how quickly his mood dropped. He hadn't felt great when he'd woken up, had felt hopelessly lost when he saw Severus' assignment, and had only rallied due to the unexpected success of his potion. Realistically he knew that it was all but impossible to get a potion right the first time, but he couldn't even remove the stirrer from the cauldron.

The realization that it was his special gold-with-a-tungsten-lining cauldron from the Weasleys and Hermione was the final straw.

Harry whipped out his wand and yelled, "_Reducto_!" The potion didn't even crack. "_Confringo_!" Nothing. "_Expulso_!" The cauldron flew backwards and slammed into the stone wall, but the potion remained. Harry didn't know what spell he was going to try next, only that he could feel the anger, resentment and upset building to a point where casting anything would be a hazard. He didn't particularly care.

Severus' hand closed around his wrist so tightly he dropped his wand with a cry of surprise mixed with pain. "Stop," he said softly. "Irreparably damaging your favorite cauldron will not help."

"I can't get it out!" Harry yelled, trying to twist free.

"_Evanesco_," Severus said, and the cement vanished. "_Reparo_," fixed the dent from crashing into the wall. "Why are you so upset?"

A thousand answers flew through Harry's mind. He fucked up his potion. He wasn't done grading. He wasn't ready to teach poison antidotes; aside from bezoars, he had more experience healing damage from curses than poisons. He hadn't had a proper night in the Forbidden Forest in ages. One kiss on the cheek wasn't enough for a year. He needed to relax and there wasn't any sign of relaxation in his future. His chess set hadn't responded to him the way he wanted it to. Of course, what he ended up saying he hadn't even realized until he spoke. "I don't want to go back to Hogwarts."

Severus' eyebrows shot up. "I thought you loved it."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "I do. That's not what I meant. I meant—ugh, I don't know. I don't want to live with Neville anymore."

Severus continued to look at him as though he had gone insane. "You are very good friends, are you not? You spent Christmas with him. What is the problem?"

Harry yanked his hand free and rubbed his wrist. "I don't know. I'll miss having my own lab. Your lab, I mean, but this lab is more my lab than the one at Hogwarts. The other basement room. The quiet." While those things weren't untrue, they had very little to do with living with Neville and even less to do with not wanting to go back to Hogwarts. He _did_ want to go back, that had been a slip of the tongue, but no, he didn't want to live with his friend anymore.

Snape let a very small smile sneak onto his face. "You cannot hold all potions labs to the standard of mine or you will be very disappointed. As for the makeshift living room, you have your own in your quarters, as well as the staff lounge and the Gryffindor common room, where I am sure you will be more than welcome. I always believed Neville to be a quiet person, perhaps his only positive quality, but if it is an issue, you can speak with him and come to an arrangement."

"Neville's fine," Harry muttered. "He's not loud, the castle is. But that's not—" He tapped his finger against his leg. "Forget it, I'm sorry. It's just the potion, it threw me off. I'm fine. I'm going to finish grading and then go to bed early."

"I will join you," Severus said, turning his cauldron off. "I have finished grading, but my potion is complete and I haven't the time to start a new one."

Harry's stomach clenched. Did Severus know? Had he guessed that was why Harry didn't want to move back in with Neville, because he wanted to stay with him? Probably, he was Severus, he knew everything. At least he was being nice about it instead of berating him.

They settled on the same couch, Harry with his half an essay and Severus with a book. Yes, Harry was going to miss this. It was stupid, they weren't even interacting, but he would miss the nearness.

Merlin, Harry was screwed.

The rest of the paper dragged on for ages, and Harry decided he didn't need to go to sleep quite yet. It was quarter past nine; it was too early even if he was going to bed early. He thought about changing, but tomorrow night he'd have the whole Forest at his disposal, and it'd be better just to wait. He could read, but all of his books were packed, as was his chess set. His chess set that didn't like him, which wasn't fair given the amount of money he spent on it. The thing wasn't even properly sentient, just was charmed to behave. _Behave_, not complain.

Severus had invited him over for break. There had been no preamble, no excuse, just an invitation.

Harry reminded himself that didn't mean it was okay for him to ask Severus if he could move in with him at Hogwarts. Three weeks was not the same as permanently. He had only been in Severus' quarters to use the bathroom, and only then because his quarters were off the potions lab and thus closest. They had never spent any time together there, had never just hung out like this, hadn't even had a cup of tea after a long night.

Harry supposed that was sort of the problem. It wasn't giving up living together, it was giving up free time together.

…Harry supposed that was probably the same thing.

He sighed quietly and lay down on the couch, resting his head in Severus' lap. It was kind of awkward, but he wasn't turned away and, after a few minutes, Severus put a hand on his shoulder.

Yeah, Harry was going to miss this.

Harry supposed he dozed off because a moment later Severus was telling him that it was late and he wanted to spend his last night at home in his own bed. Harry blinked blearily and sat up.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Was I asleep?"

Severus smiled slightly. "You were. I apologize for waking you, but I am not interest in sleeping on the couch."

"No, it's fine," Harry replied, rubbing his eyes. "I'm not either." They walked upstairs together, and as Harry was about to go into his room, he asked, "When are we leaving again? Eleven?"

"Yes," Severus replied. "Perhaps earlier if you are ready. As long as we do not miss lunch, it doesn't matter to me."

"Yeah," Harry said. "Lunch is good. And the Forbidden Forest tomorrow night?"

"After dinner, yes," Severus replied.

Harry tapped his finger against the doorframe, trying to figure out what he was going to say rather than what he wanted to say. "Okay. G'night."

"Sleep well," Severus said.

Harry walked into his room slowly, hoping for—

"Harry."

He smiled. Hoping for that. He returned his expression to one of tired neutrality and poked his head out his door. "Yeah?"

Severus was at his own door, one hand on the knob, turned so he was looking at Harry. His expression was one of confusion, irritability, and things Harry couldn't identify. "I do not want to ask, but—"

"Yeah," Harry interrupted. Severus jerked to meet his gaze, and Harry tightened his grip on the doorframe. "I mean, if you were offering to—er—" Severus continued to look at him and Harry was suddenly sure he had gotten everything wrong. Then again, it was only one night, and it wasn't like he hadn't asked before. It wasn't three weeks, it wasn't permanent, it was a night. He could ask for a night. "I'm tired," he said. "I'm tired and it's not a holiday, but I'm still upset, so maybe…"

"Hurry up," Severus snapped. "I'm tired and I wish to sleep."

Harry had to fight against a grin. "Yeah, give me a second to change and go to the bathroom. I'll be right there." He sped through what he needed to do, and knocked hesitantly on Severus' door even though it was slightly open.

"Hurry up," Severus repeated. "I do you a favor and you are insufferably slow. I told you I am tired."

"Sorry," Harry replied, closing the door and looking around nervously. The room was relatively Spartan, containing a dresser, more bookshelves—Harry had no idea how one man could have so many books—a large fireplace with a low fire, a closet, and a nightstand next to a large four poster bed. Heart pounding, thinking he might be going insane, Harry walked over to the bed and slid beneath the blankets. Silk sheets, thick blankets and surprisingly soft pillows. He would've thought Severus would have firm pillows but no, these were soft.

Severus was holding his arm out so Harry shuffled over, snuggling against him. It was like Christmas only completely different. They were in Severus' bed, his own, personal bed in his room. They were here because they acknowledged, if not verbally, that they would miss living together. Harry was thinking other things, too, and he suspected Severus was as well, not that he had the slightest idea of what those things were.

Harry set to work memorizing exactly what it felt like to be held in Severus' arms in his bed and curled up against him. He fell asleep before he got much farther than _Of course_.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** Plot ahoy! Lots of plot. Extended plot. Also? Fluff. Fluff ahoy.

You guys and your reviews, you make my heart sing. Life has been extraordinarily difficult lately, and I don't know what I'd do without you. Every time you say I've helped turn a bad day into a good one, you light up my life. Thank you so, so much.

Enjoy your plot and your fluff, my friends. More to come soon.

**Chapter Sixteen**

**48**

Nothing changed.

Nothing ever changed.

Some things changed. Harry had lessons on Saturdays, though they weren't really lessons. Mornings were devoted to brewing excessively difficult, multi-day potions, and afternoons were for inventing. By the end of January Harry had nearly finished his first solo batch of Felix Felicis, and it looked like it was going to be successful. He was making very slow progress on inventing, and much faster progress on not having breakdowns when his potions failed.

Severus' birthday went unremarked upon. Harry gave him a collection of all the old potions books he could find at Grimmauld Place, a task that took several unpleasant trips to the old house that hated him. It was worth it for the slight widening of his eyes and the small smile that graced his face as he unwrapped each book individually. Harry didn't outright say why he was giving Severus gifts on that particular day, nor did Severus, but that was fine. Intentions and not words, right?

Harry didn't have any problems teaching, just the general stupidity of first, second, and third years. It was sort of bizarre because his students were getting old, but he reasoned that he was, too. His workload was somehow much larger than it had been before break, but he was surviving.

He found time to go to the Forest, and that was becoming more important than anything else. Severus came with him sometimes but stayed behind more often than not. It was actually preferable to go out alone; he was wild and free, he had nobody looking over his shoulder, and he could forget about the nights they had spent together and the kisses that weren't and how none of that was happening anymore. He loved Severus, but when he was in the Forest he could love that more.

The trees provided a canopy from most of the snow and the frozen dirt crunched and cracked beneath him. He sped through the snow in whatever clearings he came across, trailing patterns behind himself. He avoided the other animals, magical and otherwise, though he did have a passing relationship with the centaurs. They didn't understand him or know who he was but they did know _what_ he was, including the were part, and gave him space and respect. He was starting to learn his way around the forest, which he never would have thought possible. He still found new territory almost every time he went out, but the area closest to the castle he knew. He had managed to forget how wonderful it was to be a Basilisk, and he vowed never to let it slip away again.

So really, things were good. Life was good. Severus wasn't in love with him but that wasn't now nor would ever be a reasonable hope. They didn't spend as much time together as they did at Spinner's End but that was to be expected. Occasionally, when they had time, they played chess. Harry's set still refused to cooperate, which Severus seemed to find quite amusing. Aside from Severus, life was good. Harry reminded himself that good _was_ good, and as long as he kept his expectations in line with reality, everything was fine.

On the last Saturday in January, things became not fine very quickly.

Harry was giving the second of three detentions to two second year Slytherins who had purposefully ruined their potion and tried to blame it on a Gryffindor. They were redoing the assignment and Harry was at his desk grading papers when the change started. He grabbed the vial of Oculus Ius he kept on his person at all times and downed it before he fully changed, but at that point it hardly mattered. The room was completely quiet for several minutes before the second years screamed and ran. Harry immediately took his Vita Salvus, trying desperately to remember the last time he'd taken it. Drinking the potion had become second nature; there was no way he could have missed a dose.

The alternative, that the potion was no longer effective, was far more terrifying.

As soon as he was human again he went to see Minerva. He didn't know if the second years would have told her already or not but it didn't matter. Word would get back to the headmistress sooner or later, and it would be far better coming from him. She was in her office, and Harry spent a few minutes stammering and stalling before finally coming out with it.

The story was long and tiring. Her eyes steadily grew wider and her lips thinner as he explained. He tried to leave Severus out of it but that was impossible, and halfway through rendered irrelevant when he entered her office. He briefly interrupted to inform them that the second years had gone to him and were, for the time being, in the infirmary being treated for shock. It was obvious enough they were really there to avoid creating a panic, but his explanation was left alone.

When Harry finally finished it was nearly one in the morning. He was exhausted, miserable, and terrified, and the last thing he wanted to do was stick around to hear Minerva yell at him culminating in his immediate dismissal but he didn't have a choice. As with the second years, there was a silence immediately following the tale, and when it was broken, all three jumped.

"A Gryffindor!" Phineas Nigellus Black shrieked from his portrait. "A filthy good-for-nothing Gryffindor is given the greatest honor to be bestowed on a wizard! The first of his kind, carrying on the long and noble line of Basilisks, and—"

"Phineas, while I am sure this comes as a deep disappointment, it would be very kind of you to let the headmistress speak," Dumbledore's portrait interrupted calmly.

Phineas made an extremely upset noise but fell silent. There was another long stretch of quietness before Minerva finally spoke.

"Once again I find myself at a loss for words when it comes to you," she said. "If you had come forward when you first became aware of your—condition that would be one thing, but keeping it a secret for all these years…"

"With all due respect, he did speak up," Severus said smoothly. "It was my decision not to inform you, not his."

Harry started to protest, but Minerva overrode him. "I am very interested in hearing your reasoning, Severus."

"Harry had just defeated the Dark Lord," Severus said. "Revealing him as what the public would think a monster in a time of such instability would have been far more dangerous than keeping it a secret. He was under my constant supervision as we worked to find a cure. Nowhere else would he have been allowed the necessary freedom and resources to complete his education and be instrumental in creating the potions that allow him to live safely. It was Harry's intention to leave Hogwarts immediately to live in the Hebridean reserve; I convinced him to stay, a decision I do not regret. He is no more a danger than a werewolf—less so as he can control his transformations—and I believe you had no qualms hiring Remus Lupin."

Harry was on the edge of tears. The situation itself was impossible as it was; having Severus stand up for him like that was too much. He wanted to defend him, to say it was his fault as much as Severus', but he couldn't find the words.

"Albus was well aware of Remus' condition when he was hired," Minerva replied. "I can understand the wisdom of not informing the public, but you must have known the liability you were causing the school and the dangers the staff and students were placed in." She turned to Harry. "Explain the attacks your eighth year and tonight's transgression. If you are truly as safe as Severus says, such incidents would not have occurred."

"They were accidents," Harry said, repeating what he had told her earlier. "That's why I wanted to leave, so I wouldn't hurt anyone. But you can't blame Severus for me staying. I could have left any time, and I didn't. He spent all of his spare time trying to help me. Dean and Moan—Myrtle, Dean and Myrtle were before we were working together, Hagrid and Pomona were my fault for going too close to the greenhouses, and the Hufflepuffs—I broke free of his spells. He tried to stop me but couldn't."

"Why should I expect the same will not happen again?" Minerva asked. "Basilisks are not easy creatures to subdue."

Harry wracked his brain for an explanation that didn't implicate Severus but was beaten to it.

"Again, the fault is mine," Severus answered. "We were testing a new potion. Instead of lessening his symptoms it increased them to the point of escape. Harry was a victim of miscalculated ingredients on my part."

Minerva took a moment to digest the facts. "And tonight?"

Harry tapped his finger on his leg. "I don't know," he said quietly, honestly. "I've been taking the potion, I shouldn't have needed another dose until tomorrow."

"We have been brewing in larger and larger capacities," Severus elaborated. "I believe we have found the point at which the reserved potion is no longer effective. I would like to remind you that despite the sudden change, Harry was fully prepared with both the potion to deactivate his eyes and what must have been a fresher vial of the transformation draught. While the error is inexcusable, he reacted quickly and cleverly, leaving no one injured and immediately coming to you."

"An action that should have happened years ago!" Minerva exclaimed. She let out a heavy sigh. "I need time to think. Never before has there been such a gross violation of trust and safety, and I am ill equipped to handle the situation on my own instantaneously. Harry—"

"I resign," he interrupted. "You're right, I never—" Harry swallowed back tears. It wasn't just the prospect of leaving Hogwarts, though of course that was a big part of it. He didn't care about the media or what the wizarding world thought of him. Mostly it was the looks of disappointment from both Minerva and Dumbledore's portrait and the knowledge that she was right, he had been indescribably selfish. "I should have left three years ago. I'll pack my things, and—"

"I do not accept your resignation," Severus interrupted. "You are my apprentice and my responsibility. I will take whatever punishment Minerva sees fit, and you will continue to work for me."

Harry turned, gaping at him. "No," he said definitely. "No, this is my fault, not yours."

"I have explained why—"

"Stop talking, both of you!" Minerva cut in. "You will both be punished, there is no need to argue when the burden will be shared. Harry, I agree with Severus on the matter of your resignation; Albus never should have let Remus leave, and I will not make the same mistake. Until a decision is made you are both suspended from teaching and interactions with students; meals will be brought to your quarters where you will remain." She looked at Severus. "The second years are silent for the time being?"

"It seemed there was a miscalculation in the dosage of calming draught administered," Severus said.

She nodded. "All right. We cannot hope to keep this quiet forever, but a day or two certainly couldn't hurt. Harry, if I were you I would prepare for a great deal of very angry letters and unpleasant articles in the _Prophet_. We will arrange a press conference, but until the matter is resolved here I don't wish to involve the papers."

"You can't not accept my resignation," Harry said, not having gotten past that. "I'm leaving. Tonight. You can't stop me."

"Of course I can't," Minerva replied. "But I think you would fare far better under the protection of Hogwarts than on your own."

Harry thought that was probably true, but he didn't care. "I'm not worried about me, I'm worried about the school. As it stands you had no involvement, everything is on my shoulders. But if it came out that you knowingly harbored a Basilisk it would ruin the school."

"On the other hand," Dumbledore cut in, blue eyes twinkling as always, "if the wizarding community were to hear that their savior had survived not only Voldemort but an ancient and deadly serpent and had not only been irreparably cursed but had struggled on, suffering in silence until a cure was found, the damage might not be quite so great. Especially if it were to leak that the injury was sustained while rescuing a fellow classmate."

"But—"

"Albus is right, there is always a way to placate the public," Minerva said, talking over Harry's protests. "But for now my ruling stands. No teaching, no contact with students—or the papers—until a resolution has been reached."

"But—"

"I think it is high time you return to your rooms," Minerva said, once again cutting Harry off. "Or perhaps Severus' chambers; it seems you have some brewing to do."

"But—"

"Minerva is right," Severus said. "Harry, come. I have what I brewed over vacation, which will still be potent, and we will dispose of the expired potion and start to build a new reserve in the morning. We know it lasts for at least three months and there is no excuse not to have a full supply on hand at all times."

Minerva nodded. "Good. Harry, you may stop by your rooms to collect anything you need before joining Severus, but do it quickly."

Harry opened his mouth to protest yet again—clearly she wasn't understanding the situation, he had to make it clear—but Severus put a hand on his shoulder, digging his fingers in and hauling him to his feet.

"I will supervise him," Severus said. He glanced at Harry for a split second before turning back to Minerva. "There are matters to discuss in private."

She nodded again. "I am sure, and I will call you when the time comes."

Severus inclined his head and left, leading Harry out of her office and onto the spiraling staircase.

"I can't—"

"Stop talking," Severus interrupted.

"No, but—"

"Shut up, Potter," Severus snapped.

"But I can't—"

"I will curse you silent if you do not hold your tongue!" Severus yelled, tightening his already painful grip on Harry's shoulder before letting go. "We are going to your flat and then to my rooms. Nothing will be said until we are safely in my quarters, do you understand me?"

Harry nodded mutely. They walked in silence to the rooms he shared with Neville, and Severus came in as he threw some clothes, his toothbrush, a few books and the photo album of his parents into a duffle bag. He thought about bringing the portrait of Dumbledore Severus had given him but he couldn't bear to face him. He moved as quietly as possible, but he must have closed his bedroom door too loudly because Neville came out of his room a moment later, rubbing his eyes.

"You're just getting back from detention now?" he asked.

Harry glanced at Severus. "Er, no, I—"

Neville's eyes widened as he took in the bag and Severus. "Harry, what's going on?"

"Everything's, er, fine," Harry replied nervously. "There was an, um—"

"You will be told when the headmistress sees fit," Severus interrupted tightly.

Neville looked rather terrified. "Should I be worried?"

"No," Harry said. "No, just go back to bed. I'll see you—later, I'll see you later."

Neville gave them one last searching look before giving up. "All right, then. Just promise me you won't do anything stupid."

"I'll try," Harry said, images of the Hebrideans floating in the back of his mind.

"Stop dawdling," Severus said sharply, heading towards the door. Harry trailed after him, wondering how far the Hebrideans were and if it would be possible to spend all his time as a Basilisk. If he had a cauldron and the ingredients he thought he could probably brew in his snake form as long as he was very careful about his levitation charms. He hated the idea, but he could go to the MacFustys and threaten them into ordering the ingredients for him, saying he would kill them if they didn't do what he said. As awful as that was, it was probably better than—

"Stop it," Severus hissed. "You are not going anywhere, and you haven't in you to threaten anybody."

"Get out of my mind!" Harry snapped.

"The do not think so loudly," Severus replied. "I told you not to speak. Not another word." They were in his quarters a few moments later, and Harry tossed his bag on the floor, not bothering to look around the room he had been so interested in not even a month ago.

"I'm leaving," he said firmly. "I can't stay. Obviously it's not safe and even if it was, it would ruin Hogwarts. I'll go to the Hebrideans, and I will threaten them if I have to, though given their fondness for dragons hopefully it'll be fine."

"You will stay here," Severus replied just as steadfastly. "There is no doubt word will reach the papers before anything official can be said, and you will not be safe there. Where do you think the first place a mob of angry wizards will look? An unplottable reserve already accustomed to dangerous species. You would let them kill you long before you would fight back."

"So what!" Harry exploded. "I should've done it myself when I petrified Dean. I'm too dangerous to be around people, and if I'm followed, so be it. You have no idea if the potion didn't work because it had sat around for too long or if I'm growing immune to it or anything! And how're we supposed to test that, on students in detention? That'll go over well."

"You are right, I cannot be one hundred percent certain," Severus replied evenly. "But this was bound to happen one day, both your exposure and finding the date at which the potion expires. Nothing can be preserved forever, and we will err on the side of caution. I told Minerva three months and that is where we will draw the line, though I am confident it lasts for at least five. We will keep a close eye on your transformations, testing each night whether you are in control."

"And if I'm not?" Harry challenged.

"Then we will adjust the potion," Severus said.

Harry shook his head, crossing his arms and pacing. "No. Not here. I can't. After everything I did eighth year—no. I have to leave." He started for the door, and Severus grabbed his arm.

"I understand you are upset, but—"

"No you don't!" Harry yelled. "You have no idea what it's like! Every second I'm here, every second I'm _alive_ I'm putting everyone around me at risk. We think we know how Vita Salvus works, and Oculus Ius, but they're obviously just guesses. I can't—"

"You think I don't know?" Severus asked dangerously. "I may not turn into a Basilisk, but I was a spy for far longer than your condition presented itself. If the Dark Lord ever found out, or if Bella's already tenuous hold on reality snapped, I would have been crushed like a bug, no doubt taking the entire school with me. Either the Dark Lord would destroy it to show how he treats traitors, or if the Light discovered me I would have tarnished Hogwarts' reputation beyond repair. If you'll note, I _killed Albus Dumbledore_, I was headmaster and caused the worst year of the school's history, and still I was forgiven. If I was not welcomed back, I was at least accepted. I did not run away, and neither will you."

Harry glared at him. "It's not—" His voice cracked, and he realized he was on the edge of tears. "It's not the same."

"No it is not," Severus replied. "You are Harry Potter; you can do no wrong. The public will absolve you of any wrongdoings, and those who matter will know there were none in the first place."

Harry was staring furiously at him one moment and sobbing uncontrollably the next. He wasn't sure how the transition happened, only that he couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't even think clearly enough to know exactly what "it" was, only that he wasn't strong enough. Strong hands guided him to the couch where he folded in on himself, sobbing so deeply he thought he might tear himself apart. An undeterminable amount of time later his head was tipped back and calming draught poured into his mouth. He didn't want to swallow, he didn't deserve it, but he didn't have the energy to fight.

Slowly the potion took hold. Cries were reduced to tears and then sniffling. His muscles relaxed. His mind untangled and he could almost think clearly. He registered that he was being held but he was still too full of self-loathing to accept the comfort. He did take the tissues that were handed to him and cleaned his face.

"I hate myself," he said hollowly. "I don't mean to sound dramatic, but if there's anyone who deserves it, it's me."

"You are an idiot," Severus said. He had one arm draped around Harry's shoulders and used his free hand to turn his head so they were facing each other. "What I told Minerva is true. Any blame to be had falls on me. You came to me, you told me what was happening, you asked for my help. I stand by my decision to keep your condition between us, but it was my decision. I was your professor and was in a position of authority over you. I still am."

Harry shook his head weakly. "I could have said something."

"Instead you trusted me," Severus replied, then repeated his words, emphasizing each one. "You trusted me. You came to me for help. That included the decision regarding whom to inform. Yes, you could have done it on your own, but you were young and your judgment was compromised. I firmly believe you did the right thing; I am more than capable of ignoring your wishes in favor of the greater good. In this case they were the same."

"But—"

"Nothing happened," Severus interrupted firmly. "You changed when you were not supposed to, but you were level-headed and responsible. There is no greater test than that."

Harry thought that was probably true. "But Hogwarts—"

"Will soldier on, as it always does," Severus replied. "If the Dark Lord cannot bring Hogwarts to its knees, surely an impertinent brat such as yourself cannot."

Harry smiled slightly. Only Severus could make an insult affectionate. "Maybe."

"Unquestionably," Severus said, then leaned forward and kissed Harry's forehead. It wasn't a ghosting of the lips or a quick brush, but a genuine, actual kiss. Harry calmed further while his heart sped up. It was an odd feeling but not unwelcome. "It is very late," Severus said. "You need to sleep."

Harry nodded. He was still weighing the option of running away against Severus and Minerva's words, but there was no getting around the fact that he was too tired to make any decisions tonight. "Have you got any spare blankets?" he asked, rummaging through his bag and pulling out his flannel bottoms and toothbrush. "And maybe a pillow?"

Severus gave him an odd look. "What are you talking about?"

Harry frowned in confusion. "The couch. I suppose I can use the arm pillow, but—"

Severus shook his head, smiling slightly. "You will share my bed. You are in no condition to be alone. I trust you remember where the bathroom is?"

Harry nodded again, briefly wondering if this whole thing was worth it just to get in Severus' bed before dismissing the thought as ridiculous. "Yeah. Not sure about your bedroom, though."

Severus nodded to a heavy oak door to the right. "Is there anything else you need?"

Harry was exceedingly unaccustomed to this side of Severus, the side that stood up for him and took care of him and asked about his needs. He liked it but it was strange, and he found himself wishing for an insult or smirk. "No, I'm good. I'll just be a minute."

Severus was already changed when he came out, and Harry put his dirty clothes back into his bag, trying to separate them from the rest of his clothes with a wall of books, a mildly successful endeavor. Then, not feeling like he could go into the bedroom by himself, he finally took in his surroundings. There were no surprises. A fireplace, bookshelves, a couch and two armchairs, and a desk. The door to the potions lab, the one to the bathroom, a third to the bedroom, and an open frame that led to the kitchen. He stood awkwardly by the bedroom door, examining the books under the pretense of doing something other than being nervous. He made a mental note that calming draught didn't affect anxiety related to romantic feelings, and decided that would be his next attempt at creating a new potion. If he wasn't banished or jailed or killed by an angry mob and still had a job, of course.

Severus came out a moment later, extinguished the fire, and rolled his eyes as he opened the door and led them into the bedroom. "Are my quarters so imposing?"

"Yeah," Harry replied honestly. "A little." A brief examination of the room showed that it was nearly identical to his bedroom at Spinner's End, also unsurprising. Severus wasn't a man who liked change, and it seemed fitting his quarters would match his home so closely.

"I would hope you do not need to be escorted for the entirety of your stay," Severus said, lighting a low but warm flame in the fireplace.

"No," Harry replied, forcing himself to get into bed without any prompting, no matter how strange it felt. "Just when I'm exhausted, terrified, and drugged." The banter was good, the banter was normal, and it calmed him.

"If the first and the third have not controlled the second, I do not know what will," Severus said, joining Harry under the blankets.

It took Harry a few moments to puzzle through what Severus had said. "Right, well, we'll see what Minerva says in the morning." He yawned loudly, and scooted over to Severus, feeling only a little presumptuous.

It wasn't an issue. Severus enfolded him the way he had at Spinner's End, and Harry felt his worry slipping away. Being held at all would have helped, but in bed, by Severus, who had once again found his hand and laced their fingers together? No calming draught could come close to that.

"Put it from your mind," Severus said. "Right now all you can do is rest."

"Yeah." He paused, trying to muddle through what was okay to say and what wasn't. It was never an easy distinction, and the calming draught didn't help. "Thank you," he settled on. "For everything, the last three years, tonight, all of it. I'm glad you're here."

Severus didn't reply immediately, and Harry was very worried he had said too much. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally answered, his usual sarcasm only just disguising the sweetness. "It is past two in the morning, I see no reason why you would expect me to be anywhere other than my bed. And as I said, you are in no condition to be alone. Keeping an eye on you is one less thing to worry over."

Harry smiled to himself. Not exactly sweet, but as close as Severus got. "Glad to help." He snuggled closer, and he could've sworn he felt Severus squeeze his hand. "G'night."

What might have been a brief kiss on the top of his head, or maybe just a draft. "Sleep well."


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** Hello, all! I hope you had a good and restful week; certainly better than mine, filled with catastrophe as it was. Thankfully all is sorted, but Merlin, what a week.

For those of you who are following my other story, _Starched Cuffs_, you'll know that story only has one chapter left. So there's a chance this guy will move to the MWF schedule. There's also a chance I'm going to publish a Drarry store during the weekday and keep this for the weekends; we'll see, I'm not sure yet.

I'm almost done writing this! I've got a chapter or two left, depending on how it goes. I think you'll love it. I love it. And yes, for those asking, I do drastically prefer this ending. At the time I wasn't sure, but this was the right direction. Consider the platonic ending the alternate, and this Act II.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Seventeen**

**49**

When Harry woke up Severus was gone. He had a moment of panic before realizing it was almost eleven and there was a note on Severus' pillow. The calming draught had knocked him out, then; that was hardly a surprise. Severus was probably talking with Minerva. Harry thought anything they had to say should be said in front of him, especially if Severus was going to continue to take all the blame, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. He could, however, read the note and stop assuming.

_Breakfast is in the kitchen along with a second dose of calming draught if you need it._

_Do not do anything stupid._

That was informative.

Harry heaved himself out of bed and to the kitchen. He wasn't hungry, but he thought not eating might constitute doing something stupid. Besides, he could smell the French toast from the bedroom, and even though his stomach shriveled in protest, his taste buds didn't seem to mind. He bypassed dressing in favor of his pajamas; of all the days he was allowed to spend the day in fleece instead of denim, he thought today was fairly high on the list.

His jaw dropped when he saw the plate. French toast, a few sausage links, and a chunk of raw meat. His mouth watered and, trying to hate himself but not mustering up the energy, he tore into the meat. Merlin it was good. He ate in the Forest, of course, but for the most part he was relegated to normal, human food. Whichever house elf was responsible for this, he was going to give them a year's worth of socks. _Two_ years.

Then he moved on to the normal food. After the raw chicken, the French toast was bland, and the cooked sausage downright inedible. He chucked it and dealt with the toast by smothering it in maple syrup. Basilisk tendencies aside, sugar would always be good.

Once he finished breakfast, Harry realized he had no idea what to do with himself. He wouldn't mind a shower, but Severus hadn't said anything about towels or bathrooms or anything, and he thought that would be considered a breach of privacy. He could read, but he didn't think he'd be able to focus. Writing to Ron and Hermione was tempting, but that _definitely_ fell into the stupid category.

Harry realized what he really wanted to do was brew. The thought was strange; of course he knew he enjoyed potions, he wouldn't have dedicated his life to the subject if he didn't, but it never occurred to him as something to do to relieve stress. He read, or played chess, or went for a fly. _Severus_ brewed for enjoyment.

And, apparently, so did Harry.

What's more, he brewed a Draught of Peace for enjoyment. It wasn't that he wanted the effects, though he certainly wouldn't mind them. It was that the potion was nitpicky and time consuming and required a lot of focus. Distracting, in other words. He briefly wondered what his fifth year self would think if he knew what had once been cause for a ruined day was now something he chose to do. He dismissed the thought; his fifth year self was a naïve idiot.

Severus came back as he was waiting for the potion to turn purple.

"How the times have changed," he remarked.

"Yeah, well, it turns out I like potions," Harry said testily. "Were you meeting with Minerva?"

"Minerva, the staff, and the Board of Governors," Severus replied. "Do not bother asking what was said; if you were meant to know, you would have been summoned."

Harry's stomach twisted. The Governors already? He tried to remember if Lucius Malfoy was still on the board. He had been kicked off in Harry's third year, but it would hardly be surprising if he had weaseled his way back on. Lucius Malfoy aside, Harry had never been thrilled with the Governors, and the idea of his fate resting in their hands was not a comforting one.

His potion was officially purple, and he added the powdered unicorn horn. "Can you tell me if it went well?" he asked, stirring carefully.

"Many spoke on your behalf," Severus replied cryptically. He paused. "Have you seen today's _Prophet_?"

Harry grimaced. "No. How was it?"

"Ultimately irrelevant," Severus said. "I would not bother if I were you."

"No, I should know," Harry sighed. "I've been torn apart by them enough, I might as well see what they're going on about now. At least tell me Skeeter didn't write the article." Severus didn't reply, and Harry groaned. "The potion needs to simmer. Where's the paper?"

Severus summoned it from the living room and handed it to Harry.

**HARRY POTTER'S DARKEST SECRET**

**The monster lurking beneath the surface**

Few have forgotten the brutal attacks at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from 1992 to 1993, and even fewer fail to remember the second wave, occurring only three short years ago. In both incidences the assaults were covered up with no explanation released to the press.

The reason for the conspiracy has finally come to light—none other than the famed Boy-Who-Lived-Twice was responsible for the near deaths of seven students, two professors and two ghosts, as well as the helpless pet cat of Argus Filch, beloved caretaker. An anonymous source revealed the truth to this reporter.

Basilisk. Even the name is enough to strike terror in the heart of the strongest wizard. Avicious monster capable of killing with its eyes alone, its bite possessing an incurable venom, as well as the strength and craftiness of a fifty foot long snake. Believed to be extinct for the past four hundred years, the King of Serpents has resurfaced, and in the form of none other than Harry Potter.

It is common knowledge that former headmaster Albus Dumbledore was lax in his hiring process, employing everyone from frauds to werewolves, but none knew his negligence extended to the student body. The constant danger to the students and staff of the school was hidden, preventing those in the face of death from making their own decisions regarding their safety. It is the opinion of this reporter that, once again, Gryffindor's Golden Boy received special treatment afforded to no other student. One thinks of Rubeus Hagrid, who was expelled in his third year. Will the great Harry Potter's wand be snapped in half as the gamekeeper's was? This reporter thinks not.

As always, keep a close eye on _The Daily Prophet_ for up-to-date reports as the case of the real Harry Potter comes to light.

"Brilliant," Harry said numbly, tossing the paper to the side. He stirred his potion, keeping his eyes on the cauldron. "Hagrid was expelled for the _same attacks_ that happened decades before I was even _born_. Not to mention—"

"The inaccuracies are endless, do not concern yourself with them," Severus interrupted.

"Who d'you think her source was?" Harry asked.

"I imagine she has a sixth sense regarding you," Severus replied, and Harry thought he heard a smile in his voice. "Despite being banned from the grounds, I am sure she can sneak in when she smells a story. Stop stirring so violently."

Harry managed to calm himself, or at least his hand. "It'd be better if she weren't right."

"If you truly believe that, you deserve every word of the article," Severus said. "You should not have started such a detailed potion just before lunch."

"I just ate," Harry replied. "I got up late and had breakfast an hour ago." He paused. "Did you see what the elves brought me?"

"I did," Severus replied. "A gesture far more telling than an article written by a vindictive, sensationalist idiot. Unless you require my presence, I am going to eat."

"Go for it," Harry said.

Severus briefly laid a hand on his shoulder before leaving.

Harry finished the potion a half hour later. He carefully bottled it, labeled the flask and set it on the shelf with the rest of his potions. For the first time he realized that he had an entire _shelf_ full of potions he had made. An overflowing shelf, at that. The tangible evidence of his accomplishments was disarming. He didn't have a trophy for killing Voldemort, but he had a shelf of successful potions. He wasn't sure what that meant.

Harry found Severus in the living room, staring intently and frowning slightly at his chess set. It was set up in the starting position, and Harry and no idea what he was looking at.

"Er?" he asked.

"The Solosky Opening," Severus replied. Immediately his pieces started moving and he cursed, sending them back to where they started. "It does not matter. Do you wish to play?"

"Yeah, sure," Harry said, collapsing on the couch rather dejectedly. "There's not much else to do." He replaced Severus' white pieces with his own, who grumbled before he even made his first move. Harry snapped. "Shut up!" he yelled. "Do you have any idea what I'm going through? I'm about to lose _everything_ and I can't even get my fucking _chess set_ to take me seriously. I can purposefully lose, you know. I can goad Severus into slaughtering each and every one of you slowly and painfully. So just shut the fuck up and move to e4." The pawn did as it was asked with no complaint. "Thank you," Harry muttered.

Severus chose not to comment on his tirade, and the game progressed in relative silence.

"How long do you think it'll take them to make a decision?" Harry burst out as his queen was demolished.

"I do not know," Severus replied.

"Minerva said she wasn't going to fire me, do you think the Governor's will override her?" Harry asked.

"They do not officially have such a power, but I do not know," Severus said.

"What about the Wizengamot?" Harry asked, stomach clenching, not wanting to know the answer.

"Harry, I do not know," Severus repeated. "Technically you have broken no laws so I do not believe you will be imprisoned. Beyond that, I cannot say."

Harry angrily wiped tears away. He wasn't really crying, more leaking. "I just want to know. I don't care what the answer is, I'll go to the Hebrideans and it'll be fine, I probably will no matter what they say, but I want to _know_."

"You are not going anywhere," Severus said sharply. "If you are no longer welcome at Hogwarts you will live with me."

"I want to go to the Hebrideans," Harry said firmly. "It's beautiful there, and they've got sheep with funny shaped horns."

"Sheep that are eaten by dragons," Severus reminded him.

"Well I'm fine with the Acromantulas and centaurs and unicorns and whatever else is in the Forest," Harry argued. "I defeated a dragon six years ago, and I wasn't even deadly then. I'll be fine. _I'll_ eat the sheep."

"You could not swallow their horns," Severus said with a smile. "I told you, you will live at Spinner's End."

"You can't make me," Harry said petulantly.

"When you agreed to be my apprentice you entered into a magical contract," Severus replied. "If you wish to see what happens when you break the contract, I invite your exploration. Just make sure you have a full store of healing potions on hand, and being near St. Mungo's would be beneficial."

Harry stared at him. "You didn't tell me that."

"My mistake," Severus said lightly. "Apprenticeships are different from those in the Muggle world. You are contracted to remain my apprentice until you take the Potion Master exam."

"You could have said something!" Harry exclaimed. "That's kind of an important thing to know! When you offered it was an excuse to keep me nearby so we could work on a cure. There was nothing about magical contracts! What if I don't want to stay with you? What if, I don't know, we _hate each other_?" He paused for a split second. "You hated me then! Why would you make sure we couldn't be separated when you hated me?"

"There has been no hatred between us for a very long time," Severus replied. "At the time I was focused on your condition and not the long term implications of my offer. If you truly wish to rid yourself of me there are ways of doing so, but now does not seem the opportune moment to leave."

"Yes it does!" Harry replied angrily. "I want to go to the Hebrideans! I _am_ going to the Hebrideans. Get me out of this."

"No," Severus said. "It is my job to keep you safe. You have tried to leave before and I have refused you then. Once this blows over and you are thinking clearly again, if you still want to leave we will talk then."

"I can leave without your permission," Harry replied dangerously. "We already know you can't hold me back when I really want to go. Whatever the consequences of breaking an apprenticeship, I think a Basilisk could survive them."

"Perhaps," Severus said.

Harry was on the edge of the couch, and he slumped back. "You could have told me we're bonded."

"Merlin, don't say it like that," Severus replied, grimacing. "Bonding in the wizard world is—it is entirely different. It is not an Unbreakable Vow, it is not a _bond_. We have a contract."

"A contract," Harry repeated. "Brilliant. Come to the Hebrideans with me, then. If you refuse to let me go, follow me."

"I refuse to let you make such a rash decision," Severus replied. "I am not going to the Hebrideans and neither are you."

"I've spent my whole life being tricked and manipulated," Harry stated. "The Dursleys lying to me, Dumbledore using me, now this. I wouldn't have said no to Dumbledore, I would've done everything he wanted, I just wish he had _told_ me. I never had a choice because I didn't know what was happening. And then you—of all the people, _you_—do this to me. I wasn't going to leave, not in the middle of finding a cure, and not after. I like potions, and I want to keep going with the apprenticeship. But you could have _told_ me."

Severus stayed silent for a moment. "I am sorry. We will annul the magic as soon as possible. You may stay as my apprentice if you like but you will no longer be obligated to do so. It is ancient magic meant to protect against young wizards from running away from their obligations in a time when such a thing meant disownment and dishonor, often leaving a wife and children behind. It is the 21st century. There is no need for you to be under an enchantment."

"Is that why we have the relationship we have?" Harry asked hollowly. "Because you were forced into it?"

"No," Severus replied sharply. "Of course not. Did you not get my note this morning? I specifically instructed you not to be stupid. You will not leave for the Hebrideans and you will not ask questions you know the answer to."

"I might know if you ever _talked_," Harry muttered. "Forget it. I'll stay until I get my sentence, and I'll stay until we're not attached anymore, and then you'll be rid of me and you won't know where I go or what I do."

"You are insufferable," Severus snapped. "It is your move."

"I know, that's my point," Harry said. "I get to—"

"Chess," Severus interrupted. "It is your move in _chess_."

Harry flushed. "Oh. Right." He tried to return his attention to the game, but he was too distracted. He wanted to leave now, he was terrified and humiliated and embarrassed about his outing, he was furious with Severus, and his stomach kept fluttering because he was magically attached to him and that was kind of nice in a weird, betraying his trust sort of way.

Then he realized Severus was attached to him as well. He had known what he was doing and he had still done it.

But it didn't matter. Harry was going to go to the Hebrideans and would never see him again and that was that.

Harry moved a rook to the right.

Halfway through their second game a very thick envelope arrived from Ron and Hermione. Severus decided he had business in the lab and left Harry alone to read. The short version was that Ron and Hermione still loved him, they supported him no matter what, and they would do the best they could to help. Harry cried a little. He would have given anything to see them, but going to London was not an option. He couldn't even leave Severus' quarters, and he was relatively certain he wasn't allowed to write them back. If the letter was intercepted, if it fell into the wrong hands, that would count as breaking every rule Minerva had set for him. So Harry read it a second and then a third time before putting it back in its envelope and tucking it into his bag.

"Severus," he called. "You can come back."

"I left for my own reasons and will return for the same," Severus replied. "I am brewing now, I will not come back in the middle of a potion."

Why was it good when Severus was mean to him? Not that it wasn't better when he was nice, but this seemed more real. "Do you have a spare towel?" Harry asked. "I didn't get the chance to take a shower this morning."

"In the bathroom," Severus replied as if he was daft. "The red one."

"Thanks," Harry said.

The shower wasn't nearly as cleansing as he thought. Being in Severus' shower was strange and tingly. Knowing he was bonded to Severus by Severus' own doing was even stranger and tinglier. Accidentally using Severus' soap so he smelled like him was not as strange and tingly as the bonding but more so than the shower.

Not knowing what was in store was impossible. He could handle being fired, being yelled at, being disowned by the wizard community, but he couldn't deal with not knowing. Also, he probably couldn't actually deal with being disowned by the wizard community, especially Hogwarts. Hogwarts was his home, his family and friends, the first place he had been accepted and loved. He couldn't bear the thought of leaving. He couldn't wrap his head around it. Not having Hogwarts, he didn't understand the concept. He could go on and on about the Hebrideans, but he said that knowing he could always come home to Hogwarts.

Harry wasn't sure how long he stood under the water staring blankly at the wall before getting out. He toweled off, wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped into the living room.

Greeting Minerva while half naked was not his intention.

She was sitting in one of the chairs by the fireplace, Severus occupying the other. She raised her eyebrows at him. "Do you need a minute?"

Harry blushed and grabbed his bag. "Yeah, that'd be good." He gave Severus a quick glance before retreating into the bathroom. Severus was looking at him like—well Harry didn't know, and he didn't have time to give him a closer examination or even think it over as he changed and hurried back out to the living room. He sat on the couch, flattened his hands on his thighs and started tapping.

"So, er," he started. Minerva and Severus were looking at him expectantly, and he had no idea what to say. "Severus said you met with the Governors?" Words started spilling out, and he couldn't stop them. "That was a short meeting, given the circumstances, wasn't it? Don't they usually take weeks to make this sort of decision? And I thought you weren't ready, that you needed time to think. You don't—I mean, I shouldn't—"

"Be quiet, Harry," Minerva interrupted, sounding more amused than upset. "These circumstances have not existed before today so you can remove any preconceived notions of how we should proceed from your mind. A decision has been reached, if you can stop talking long enough to listen."

Harry's tapping grew more frantic. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm done."

"You are not fired," she said. "You can get that idea out of your head. Nor is your resignation accepted. You will continue your internship. However. You will personally write a letter to the parents of our students explaining your situation. You will hold a lecture for the students explaining your situation. You will have a press conference with _The Daily Prophet_ and explain your situation. If students are uncomfortable learning from you, you will convince Horace to take on the extra classes, and he will not be pleased. Severus has assured me that yesterday's mistake will never happen again, and you will make sure he keeps his word. I have been told Neville is already aware of your condition, but you will tell him again and confirm he doesn't mind living with you."

That—that was it? "Yes, Minerva."

"For violating my trust," she continued, "you will submit weekly reports to myself and Severus detailing the status of your potions and the assurance you have taken them. You will not be allowed to—" She cleared her throat. "You are not allowed to change while you are on campus. Before you ask, the Forbidden Forest is not part of campus. However, if you intend to go out, you will inform myself and Severus, and if either of us are unavailable or cannot be contacted, the answer is no."

"Okay," Harry said faintly.

"For the rest of the school year you will do whatever is asked of you," Minerva said. "This power is extended to staff, of course, but beyond that, it does not matter who asks what of you, you will do it with no complaint. If Horace needs cauldrons cleaned or Argus needs the floors washed or Rubeus needs the entire campus mowed, you will do it."

Six months of detention was _nothing_ compared to what he had done. "Yes."

There were a few moments of silence. "Harry, you had many people fighting for you," Minerva said. "You would do well to thank those responsible for the lightness of your punishment."

Harry glanced at Severus, who looked on stonily. "Yeah," Harry said.

Minerva eyed Harry. "I expect more from you, Harry."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. "Yeah, me too."

"One last thing," she said, standing. "I have owled the MacFustys and you will not be allowed on their land. Do you understand me?"

A sharp stab of pain shot through him. That had been his out. Since this whole thing had started, that had been his safe place. If nothing else worked he could always go to the Hebrideans. And now that had been stolen from him. Panic started to build, winding through him and squeezing his organs. There were other dragon reserves, he reasoned. The Hebrideans might be closest, but there was the one in southern England, and where Charlie worked in Romania. He could probably disappear into the Black Forest or the Amazon if he tried, or maybe find an uncharted island somewhere. Those still existed, right? Surely Muggles hadn't been _everywhere_.

"Harry?" Minerva's voice came from far away.

There were other places, yes, but the Hebrideans had been _his_. It was stupid to think that way, he had never even been there, but it had still been his safety net. Now he would have to do research, he'd have to make a new plan, all while fulfilling the duties Minerva had given him. Would the Black Forest be too cold? He didn't know much about Germany's climate, or Romania's. The Amazon would certainly be warm enough, but could snakes sweat? Would he overheat? If an island was uncharted then how was he supposed to find it? The Welsh Green reserve in southern England, how big was that? Was there even official unplotted land? Being that near to London would be a form of torture he wasn't willing to inflict on himself. His friends would be so close and he wouldn't be able to—

"_Harry_!"

He jerked out of his daze and looked at the headmistress. "Yes, sorry, I understand."

Minerva didn't look convinced. "I will send word when the press conference and lecture have been scheduled. I expect your letter to be completed by midnight tonight. I would alert Horace to the potential need for him to teach extra lessons, but I leave that decision to you. Until you have completed these tasks and have submitted your first report, you will continue to room with Severus. Neville is a fine young man, but you require someone as stubborn as yourself to see to your well-being."

Harry couldn't process the consequences of that particular decision, not yet. His attention was split between trying to remember if the Black Forest was in northern or southern Germany and composing the letter to the parents. What, exactly, was he supposed to say to lessen the blow? Dumbledore's words from the night before floated through his mind, and he thought that might not be a bad place to start. But still. _Surprise, I, Harry Potter, am a Basilisk!_ That wasn't going to generate a positive reaction no matter what he said. He had books on snakes, a lot of them, and he could check to see if they sweat or not. The Amazon was much farther away, and while he would miss Europe terribly that might not be such a bad thing. The first Basilisk was bred in Greece so presumably they could handle _some_ heat, but the Amazon was—actually, he didn't know average temperatures. He'd need to look that up, too.

"Harry Potter you will listen when I speak to you!" Minerva said sharply.

Harry jerked. "Yes, sorry, I was. The letter tonight, you'll let me know about the other things, and I'm staying with Severus. I got it. I was thinking about the letter, actually, how best to phrase it."

Her lips thinned, and she clearly didn't believe him. "Fine. You are no longer restricted to your quarters and your lessons resume as usual." She inclined her head slightly. "Good evening, gentlemen."

Severus spoke for the first time, and that was enough of a surprise that he focused. "There is one more matter to attend to."

Minerva raised an eyebrow. "And what would that be?"

"Harry wishes to end his formal apprenticeship in lieu of something less binding," Severus replied, voice devoid of expression. "A third party is needed to break the agreement and as you are already here, as well as headmistress, I see no one better to perform the spell."

"No," Harry said quickly. "No, I don't."

Severus looked at him with a fiery anger Harry hadn't seen in a long time. "You were quite insistent."

"I was upset," Harry said. "I didn't know, and I was upset, and I have a lot on my mind, but I want to stay on."

Some of the fury left Severus' eyes, but it was Minerva who spoke.

"It seems you need to discuss the matter further," she said. "If you still want to terminate the contract, you know where to find me."

Severus responded with something Harry didn't hear as she left; he had fallen back into planning for the upcoming days. Rita Skeeter would be at the press conference, no doubt with a thousand questions she would answer herself. How fast could he get to Germany? In time to avoid her? He'd have to find a boat, that would be the hard part. He cursed the U.K. for being an island before remembering he could apparate straight there. He'd have to find a picture so he knew where he was going, but the Hogwarts library must have information about the forest.

It occurred to him that he just insisted on keeping himself magically bound to the castle, which might not have been an action of somebody who was planning on running away.

Severus rapped him sharply on the head.

"Ow!" Harry yelled, rubbing where he had been hit. "What was that for?"

"We are going to play chess until you stop thinking about Germany and Brazil," Severus replied.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I swear to Merlin, Severus, if you keep reading my mind—"

"It is reading your mind only in the way one reads billboards: an unavoidable consequence of having eyes," Severus said. "It is your move."

"I need to write the letter," Harry replied angrily. "I'm not going to stop thinking about leaving before midnight. I'm going to write the letter, and then I'm going to have dinner even though I'm not hungry, and then I'm going to sit around and think about Germany and Brazil until I fall asleep."

There was a loud screeching noise, and Harry saw that the chair at Severus' desk had been pushed back, as well a sheet of parchment and a quill appearing.

"Write away," Severus said. "After which you will take the Draught of Peace you made, and then you may have dinner."

"I don't want it," Harry replied, going over to his desk. "I wasn't making it to take, I was just brewing."

"I am aware," Severus said. "But you are in my care, and it is not up for discussion. Do you remember the first time you took calming potion? If you wish to throw the flask back and forth first I will oblige, but you _are_ drinking it."

Harry decided he could argue after the letter. He picked up the quill and hesitated. How was he even supposed to address it? _To the parents of Hogwarts students_? That was long and clunky and awkward. _To whom it may concern _gave the wrong impression. After much debate, Harry settled on a charm that copied his writing onto the correct number of parchments as he wrote, along with a spell that changed the name to that of the recipient. He was a little proud of the magic until he remembered he still had to actually write the letter, and how to address it was not the hard part.

After what Harry was sure must have been at least five or six hours, he declared it done. The story took five feet of parchment, and there were around two hundred and fifty families who had children at Hogwarts. The desk was buried beneath drifts of scrolls, as well as a good portion of the room. Feeling a little guilty about flooding Minerva's office with so much parchment, Harry charmed the scrolls into three orderly lines that hovered by the ceiling and sent them away.

He put the quill down and, massaging his hand, glanced at the clock. Merlin, it hadn't even been an hour. His hand cramped the way it did when he spent all night writing and his mind was drained as if he had been working for hours. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking stock of himself. His hand, head, neck, and shoulders all ached. Shivers of anxiety ran through him. He was—yet again—on the edge of tears. He wasn't having a meltdown, no, but he could feel one on the horizon. Maybe a Draught of Peace wouldn't be the worst idea. And, he reasoned, what Severus had said last night was true: he hadn't hurt anyone, he hadn't even put anyone in danger. So maybe he even deserved it, and could accept the relief without fighting it.

Then he remembered the article in the _Prophet_. Dean read the _Prophet_. His family probably did, too, as well as the families of the Hufflepuff Prefects. Hagrid and Pomona had no doubt been told already. Harry's heart clenched. Would they ever forgive him? Had he just lost not only one of his mates but _Hagrid_? The idea of never speaking to him again was too desolate to even consider.

Harry thought again of Germany and Brazil. It wasn't like he would talk to them if he left home, but that would have been his choice. A self-imposed exile was worlds away from his friends abandoning him.

Severus appeared before him holding the flask. "Are we going to argue over this?"

"Did you see the rest of the staff?" Harry asked.

"Yes, there was a meeting before the Governors came," Severus replied.

"And, er." Harry cleared his throat and focused on a spot somewhere above Severus' left shoulder. "Was Hagrid there?"

"He was," Severus said. "If you are inquiring as to his feelings towards you, I do not know. It was not discussed."

Harry tapped his finger on the table. "If you had to guess?"

"I do not guess, and I recommend asking him yourself," Severus replied. He was spurred on by Harry's furious expression. "It is possible he was more upset at the breach of trust than the petrification. He was among those who defended you, and I assume he would not have stood up for you if he hated you."

That was probably a good sign. Harry had no intention of going to see him, not without knowing if he was even open for conversation in the first place, but maybe he could owl him. And Dean, he'd have to talk to Dean.

"I'm going to have dinner here," Harry said. "I can't—it'd be better if I stayed here until—for a while."

"You must not hide," Severus replied. "It will look as though you believe yourself to be guilty, and others will assume the same. Hold your head high and act as if nothing is wrong. You will not receive purely positive reactions, especially while there are only rumors and lies, but you must not go into this already defeated."

There was wisdom in his words, Harry knew that. He also knew there was no way he could sit in the same room as Hagrid, eat while the entire castle stared at him, digest when the school was simultaneously terrified and filled with hatred. He might not even make it out of the Hall alive, though he welcomed any and all curses thrown his way as justified penance.

"I can't," Harry said weakly.

"Drink this," Severus replied firmly, sliding the flask across the desk. "Then we will go."

"Please don't," Harry said. "I can't."

"You can and you will," Severus replied. "I despise dealing with your whiny, childish side, and the longer you force me to do so, the farther you will fall out of my favor. I remind you that you are ordered to stay in my quarters; I can make your time here miserable if I so choose. It would behoove you to stay on my good side."

That was also true, but he knew how to deal with an angry Severus much better than he could an angry mob.

Harry wished desperately for Remus.

Severus sighed impatiently. "Stop crying. I am very hungry and you are between myself and a warm meal."

Harry gave up. Once again he hadn't know he was crying, and he wiped away his tears as he uncorked the flask and drank. It didn't give him peace exactly, more of a resignation and acceptance of what needed to be done, but that was close enough. It would get him to the Great Hall, and that was as far as he was willing to plan.

"All right," he said, standing up and stretching out his writing arm. "Fine, let's go."

He expected Severus to continue to berate him, which seemed to be his way of getting Harry to do what he wanted, but he didn't. "You are making the right decision," he said. "It was not an easy one to make, and I am proud of you."

Harry shrugged as they left. "You drugged me into it."

"I steadied your nerves," Severus replied. "There is a difference. If you had truly intended to run away, the potion would have encouraged you."

Harry glanced at him. "You risked it?"

"There was no risk," Severus stated. "You told Minerva you wanted to remain with me, but even if you had not, I would have known." He winced as he continued. "You are the epitome of a Gryffindor. You do not run away. You told me you would have followed Dumbledore even if you knew from the beginning you had to die, and I do not doubt for a moment that is true. Going to dinner hardly compares."

Harry smiled slightly. "Suppose." They were late to arrive, and the entrance to the Great Hall was empty. He stopped and turned to Severus. "Do they know what you did?"

"The staff do," Severus replied. "The students know only whatever rumors are circulating."

Harry took a deep breath. "Let's just get this over with."

The Hall fell into silence as they walked in. As expected, the eyes on him were a mixture of scared, suspicious, confused, and angry. The staff continued their conversation as if nothing had changed, and by the time Harry had arrived at the High Table whispers were starting to break out amongst the students.

"Harry, o'er here," Hagrid said, waving him over. There was only one empty seat next to him and while Harry was equally desperate to stay with Severus and avoid his friend, he went to him and sat down.

"Hi," Harry muttered, putting as little on his plate as he could manage. A small slice of rare steak and a spoonful of peas. At least it looked like he was eating. "I, er, didn't think you'd want to see me."

"O' course I do!" Hagrid exclaimed. "I've been worried sick all day. Minerva had us up at the crack o' dawn, and then what with you missin' breakfast an' lunch…" He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper that could no doubt be heard throughout the Hall. "Well, dependin' on who you ask, yeh either ran away to live with dragons, were carted off to Azkaban—which I knew you weren', o' course, but still—or that you… Well, y'know."

Harry stared at him. He didn't know. "That I what?"

"Offed yourself," Hagrid said quickly. "But clearly yeh didn', so it's all water under the bridge."

Harry continued to stare at him. "You're not mad?" he asked. "I thought you'd never speak to me again, after you found out it was me."

Hagrid's eyes were soft and kind as he spoke. "I foun' out a lot more than yeh bein' a—what yeh are. Minerva told us the whole story, an' from where I'm sittin', yeh did nothin' wrong. That's not to say I'd rather I hadn't been—that, but I know yeh never mean' to hurt anyone, an' I don't hold it against yeh. Yeh had no more control over it than Norbert did for breathin' fire."

Harry didn't think that was true at all, but if Hagrid was willing to forgive him, he wasn't going to push it. "Thanks," he said dumbly. "Really, Hagrid. I heard you defended me, and thanks for that, too. I don't know what I would've done without you."

Hagrid clapped him on the back, causing Harry to upset his pumpkin juice. "O' course, jus' doin' right by my friend. Yeh've stood up for me more times than I can count, it's about time I returned the favor."

Harry decided that was enough awkwardness. He could spend the rest of the night apologizing and promising to make up for it, but it was clear Hagrid wanted to let it go, and that was okay with Harry.

**50**

The rest of dinner didn't go as smoothly. Hagrid was perfectly friendly, and Minerva was on his other side so the conversation wasn't too bad, but halfway through dinner his glass exploded, the pudding they had for dessert upturned itself onto his face and robes, and his tea shot straight up into the air, raining back down on himself and Minerva. Harry supposed that had been meant for his face as well, but Minerva magicked it away without a word, and he refilled his teacup and cast an anti-enchantment spell on it, so that was the end of that.

As he stood to leave, his shirtsleeves suddenly flew up to his elbows. The Hall was silent, and he had no idea what the point of the jinx had been until he realized all attention was directed at his left forearm.

"I'm not a Death Eater!" Harry yelled, words echoing through the Hall. "I don't know what people have been saying, but for Merlin's sake, I'd think that obvious!"

Minerva stood as Harry yanked his sleeves down. "Tomorrow at breakfast Professor Potter will be making a statement explaining the situation. Until then, I would thank you to avoid spreading rumors, or at the very least display some common sense."

"I will be?" Harry asked quietly. "Tomorrow morning?"

"I was going to give you until dinner to prepare yourself, but it seems the need is more emergent than I thought," she replied, sitting back down.

"Yeah, apparently," Harry muttered, rubbing his arm. "Right, well I better go prepare something, then."

"Your letter was suitable," she said. "You may read from that if you wish."

"We'll see," Harry replied. The letter had been directed at parents and not his students, and he'd need to change the tone at the very least. "Thanks for that, by the way."

She waved her hand dismissively, and Harry left.

Harry let himself into Severus' quarters, and for a moment he wasn't barely hanging on but actually giddy with happiness and excitement. For a moment he could pretend that he always let himself into Severus' quarters because they weren't Severus' but _theirs_ and he lived here too because they were together.

Then the moment passed, Harry's good cheer along with it. He penned another copy of the letter, addressing it to Ron and Hermione and adding a note that he was too tired to rewrite the copy for the parents so they should skip over what they already knew and ignore the formality. When it was finished Severus' owl was waiting for him at the window, and Harry gave him a large handful of treats as he tied the scroll to his leg and thanked him profusely for knowing when to arrive.

Severus still wasn't back by the time the letter was sent, and Harry changed into his pajamas and crawled into bed. It was only a little after eight and Harry didn't expect to fall asleep, but lying down in the dark was the only thing he could manage. The same giddiness washed over him as he lay down, but it passed just as quickly.

Just as he was starting to worry, he heard the door open and the familiar sound of Severus' steps. Harry realized he could recognize his footsteps in a room of hundreds and blushed. It was just that he was _distinctive_, that was all. Purposeful and steady, so quiet they were barely audible, toe-to-heel instead of the more common heel-to-toe, and the low swish of his robes.

"I'm in bed," he called out. "I didn't run away, I'm still here."

"I am aware," Severus replied.

More footsteps, and then the sound of the couch settling. Harry was ashamed to admit how much he'd been hoping for Severus to join him, but of course that was ridiculous. Not only was it early, but he had no reason to go to sleep at the same time as Harry. It wasn't like they were going to do anything and needed to coordinate their schedules to accommodate whatever people did in bed together. In fact, Harry reminded himself not to expect anything at all, not even snuggling. That had been one night—well, one night since break—and he had been in the midst of a breakdown. Severus had been comforting him, and that was all. Not even: he had been keeping an eye out.

An unpleasant thought crossed Harry's mind. "Should I be sleeping on the couch?" he asked, not sure if he was speaking loudly enough to be heard. "Since you don't need to worry about me?"

"I always worry about you, Potter," Severus drawled. "You wreak havoc wherever you go; how could I not?"

This was not one of the times when sarcasm was comforting. "That wasn't an answer," Harry replied testily. "If you could not be an arse just for tonight I'd really appreciate it. I'm stuck here and you might as well treat me like a human being as long as we're living together.

"Do not get up on my account," Severus said after a short pause. "Sleep wherever you please."

Harry considered moving to the couch so he wouldn't be alone but Severus was clearly not in the mood. Harry asked a question he should have thought of long ago. "What's your punishment?"

"None of your business," Severus snapped.

Of all the times for their relationship to regress, it had to be now. "I'm sorry if I offended you earlier," Harry said. "About the apprentice thing? I really was just surprised. And scared, because of the Hebrideans thing. But I don't want to break the magic."

"I gathered as much when you told Minerva," Severus replied dryly. "If you wish to talk, have the decency to come into the same room as I and stop shouting across the flat."

Harry wanted to stay in bed. He wanted to fix things with Severus. He wanted to not have been found out. He wanted everyone to magically understand without having to do anything. He wanted Ron and Hermione to be here. He wanted to be back at the peace and quiet of Spinner's End.

Since getting what he wanted wasn't possible, he decided to work on what he needed to survive this. He pulled himself out of bed and shuffled into the living room and onto the couch. Severus didn't look up from his book.

"I'm really tired," Harry said. "I've got an awful headache. There's a chance I'm going to be killed by an angry mob. I'm effectively stuck in detention for the rest of the school year. Can we night fight now?"

"I thought I was being gracious," Severus replied, still not looking up. "I offered to let you sleep wherever you wished, including my bed. Explain to me how that is a fight."

Harry sighed. "Come on. Please?"

"I see no issue, Potter."

Harry felt tears prickling in the corners of his eyes and blinked them away. He was not going to cry again, not over this, not in front of Severus. "You're not looking at me, you're calling me Potter, and you're treating me like the last three years never happened and you still hate me."

"You are overly sensitive," Severus said. "The weight of the day combined with—"

"I'm not," Harry interrupted, though he knew he was. That wasn't the point. "I know you hate talking about feelings and stuff, and I'm not asking you to. You don't have to explain why, just tell me what I can do to fix it because I really need you right now and I can't deal with you being upset with me." That was a lot more than he meant to say.

Severus finally put his book down. "You are not the only one affected by this," he said. "The consequences for me are not as public or volatile as yours but that does not change the fact that I have to suffer, too. You do not need to hear the details, but know that you are not the only one being punished."

Harry felt incredibly selfish. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "You're right, I was too wrapped up in myself." He was torn. On one hand, Severus had obviously been upset when he wanted to pull out from the apprenticeship; on the other, he clearly needed his space and needed not to be needed. Harry rallied his strength and continued. "I'll leave you alone; if I'm asleep when you come to bed, wake me up and I'll move to the couch."

Severus sighed irritably. "Once again you are overreacting. I do not make offers I do not mean, especially regarding my bed. You are welcome to sleep wherever you like."

"I just—" Harry faltered. He had no idea how to say what he meant. "I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. I dragged you into this eighth year. It doesn't matter who said what after that; I shouldn't have involved you in the first place. Even more than that, I'm sorry for shoving myself into your life. I know you're private and you like to be alone and don't want anyone to need you or anyone to be responsible for. Minerva said I have to stay here until things are sorted so I will, but after that I'll leave you alone. I'll leave my apprenticeship up to you; if you want to keep me on, fine, and if not I'll get Horace to teach me, or just do it myself. I never—" He had to swallow a rather large lump in his throat. "I'm just sorry."

Harry did not expect to be pulled into a hug. He didn't expect Severus to lean his forehead on Harry's, or for him to need a moment to collect himself. He sat in a dazed shock before remembering a hug usually involved two people and awkwardly put his arms around Severus. He worked _very_ hard not to kiss him because he was so close and Harry was so full of emotions, but he didn't.

"I do not want you to leave," Severus said softly. "I never expected to share my life with anyone, least of all you, and you are right that you bullied your way into a pleasantly private and solitary existence. That does not change the fact that you did insert yourself, and have made room for yourself where I never thought there space. I cannot always be pleasant, nor can I drop everything to attend to you when I have my own burdens to shoulder. I am not a good person to need but I do not balk or pull away from your attachment. As for accountability, I have been responsible for you since you were one year old. The circumstances may have changed but never the intention."

Harry was floored. No, that wasn't right, he was sitting on a couch. He was couched. Wait, no, that was also wrong. He was breathless, that was right, and speechless, and amazed, and deeply touched, and he _really_ loved the man in front of him. Nobody had ever said anything even remotely like that to him before, and it almost didn't matter that it was platonic. He would have preferred a declaration of love as well, he wasn't going to cheapen the moment by lying to himself, but it didn't really matter because Severus did love him, even if he would never say the words. The spark and the sexual attraction would have been nice, but were largely insignificant in the face of his speech.

Harry needed to thank Severus, and he did by saying what he thought Severus would most want to hear, setting his own needs aside completely. "We're halfway through a chess game. Want to finish?"

Severus jerked in surprise, eyes coming up to meet Harry's, and they had already been so close and now they were closer and Harry could practically _taste_ his lips and he still held himself back. For one wild moment he thought Severus might kiss _him_, but then he pulled away, and Harry thought he had just been expecting him to go on about feelings and relationships and hadn't realized where their bodies were. Their knees were still touching but that was it, and Harry physically felt the loss.

"I thought you wanted to sleep," Severus said.

"Just resting," Harry replied. "I'm not up for much more than half a game, but I can handle that much. Besides, I should see if my pieces still respect me."

Severus gave him an indecipherable look. Amusement, but something more, bigger than that. On anyone else Harry would have thought it annoyance but he knew Severus' annoyed look, and it wasn't this. "Very well," he said.

"Unless you want to be alone," Harry asked quickly. "What you said, it doesn't—I mean, it does—er—"

"You must learn to trust me," Severus interrupted. He glanced at the board. "Bishop to e2."

"I did, you said you couldn't—"

"Right now I am saying I would like to play chess," Severus said. "Your move."

"I'm not bullying now?" Harry asked.

Severus sighed deeply, the one that meant the answer was obvious and he was running out of patience. "No. Make your move now or forfeit your turn."

Harry moved a knight to the side and was pleased to see that the pieces still responded to him. He was less pleased when he remembered how distracted he had been earlier and realized his pieces were a jumbled disarray that came nowhere close to resembling a strategy. He held out for as long as he could before losing, which ended up being less than five minutes.

"Pathetic," Severus said with a smile as he sent his set where it belonged.

"I had already screwed myself," Harry replied. "At least that one pawn I took died broken and beaten. My pieces are warming up to me."

"How unfortunate," Severus said testily.

Harry tapped his leg. "I'm going to go lie down in bed to rest and not to sleep, so I'm going to keep the fire up for warmth since light doesn't matter." Did that get his point across? He wasn't going to outright say that if Severus wanted company he could join him because that was too much, but letting him know he was welcome, that was good. Equally important was letting him know it was okay if he didn't want to come, that Harry wasn't asking for his company.

Severus glanced at the clock, then at his book. "Go on. I will not disturb you when I come to bed."

Harry's thoughts turned to the speech he was supposed to make at breakfast. Sleep didn't seem likely. "Don't worry about it," he said, getting up and going back to bed. He kept the door open a crack and the fire higher than strictly advantageous for sleep. He curled up under the blankets, breathing in the scent of Severus as his words echoed through his mind. Harry didn't have a word for what they were, but they were definitely something. A together. An us. Family but more than family because they chose each other, they weren't born into it. Friends but more than friends because this was not the relationship he had with Ron and Hermione. He thought it might be because of Severus. He didn't let people in, full stop. But he had with Harry. Maybe everything that would have been split between friends and family was all directed at him.

For the first time, Harry thought he might possibly have cause to wonder maybe if Severus could potentially feasibly love him the way Harry loved him. It wasn't likely, and that was putting it mildly, but it didn't seem impossible anymore.

Harry conjured a _Tempus_ on the bedside table and set an alarm for six. That would give him time to shower, dress, and go over what he wanted to say. He was going to read from the letter but he didn't want to sound mechanical or rehearsed. If he was going to make it through this alive he needed to, quite literally, seem human. It was currently nine past ten. He watched the numbers tick by with something a little like panic. He needed to sleep, actually sleep, he hadn't realized how late it had gotten, but he wasn't willing to turn down the fire yet.

At ten-sixteen Severus came in. He moved quietly, making only the slightest noises as drawers opened and clothing rustled. He left for a few minutes, presumably to go to the bathroom, and when he returned he lowered the flame and came into bed. Harry was facing away from him, not by design but because that way he could watch the time, and he found himself regretting it. Would they not be sleeping together tonight? Probably not no matter how Harry had arranged himself; Severus had talked, and expecting him to open up physically and emotionally in the same day was too much. Merlin, the same _week_ was unthinkable. But it was fine, because he had talked, he had said things, and those things had been—

Then Severus was _there_, curling around him, draping an arm over his side, nesting them together. Harry forgot how to breathe. Something in the back of his mind was responsible for forcing air in and out of his lungs, something that didn't want him to seem pathetic and needy, and he was very grateful for that. The same something was working to keep his muscles relaxed and his heart beating, and that was also good. Out of a mix of desire and curiosity Harry edged his hand right next to Severus', accidentally-on-purpose brushing their fingers together before retreating no more than a millimeter or two, letting Severus initiate contact. Which he did, immediately taking Harry's hand and sliding their fingers together.

With a jolt, Harry realized there was a word for this. Spooning. They were spooning. He was spooning with Severus.

It was very good Harry was facing away from him; he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from kissing him, consequences or no. As it was, he just squeezed Severus' hand.

Very, very quietly Severus repeated Harry's words from the night before.

"I am glad you are here as well."


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N:** I'm so sorry this is going up so late! What with the missing hour, my sprained ankle, and how much my wrist hurts (new tattoo: "Always." Couldn't be happier.), I totally forgot today was a publishing day. But here it is! And I think you will like it. Maybe, just a little.

**Chapter Eighteen**

**51**

The only good thing about Monday was that Harry dedicated the rest of his life to performing good deeds because he learned what hell was like and he didn't want to go there. It combined the press conferences and private interviews with Rita Skeeter from his fourth year, the disbelief and anger from fifth year, and somehow still the hero worship from the summer after he defeated Voldemort. Harry had no idea how those could all be happening at the same time, but apparently they could.

The speech at breakfast was relatively successful in that he wasn't cursed or interrupted. On the other hand he was met with nothing but blatant disbelief. No matter how many details and specifics he reeled off it seemed the student body of Hogwarts was incapable of believing their savior could be a Basilisk. After a brief whispered conversation with Minerva, Harry carefully arranged himself, took the altered Lenimen Curatio and Oculus Ius, and changed. It was terrifying for everyone involved. The students didn't _entirely_ panic, but there were still screams and a young Hufflepuff fainted, and Harry's habit of nervously swishing his tail resulted in accidentally knocking Filius Flitwick out of his chair, which resulted in even more panic before he announced that he was neither petrified nor stone. Harry learned changing in the Great Hall was very different from streaking through the woods at night, and he didn't like it at all.

He also realized that students were _idiots_. It didn't occur to him until later because he had been so preoccupied at the time, but he couldn't fathom why anyone would think he was faking something like that. Of all the things to lie about, the ability to turn into a hated and deadly monster was nowhere on his list.

Harry didn't have any classes on Mondays, which meant he spent the days grading and planning and brewing. Sometimes he would shadow one of Horace's upper level classes. Instead he spent the morning catching up on the usual work that he hadn't done over the weekend, as well as what he had expected to do today. At least he could do those things in the comfort of Severus' quarters; he wasn't sure when he would be allowed back into his rooms, but while he did enjoy living with Severus, he was too busy to care.

Lunch was the same sort of okay as breakfast. No curses and no exploding food, but a lot of terrified looks were thrown his way, especially from the Slytherins. He thought that was a combination of upset at him for emotionally scarring the second years and the same jealously Phineas had yelled about. They clearly didn't understand what it was actually like otherwise they wouldn't be jealous, and he wasn't feeling particularly kind towards them. At the beginning of the meal Minerva informed him the reporters would be arriving at two, which successfully destroyed his appetite.

Harry really did not want to talk to the papers by himself. He also didn't have a choice in the matter. Severus and Minerva both had classes, Neville offered but Harry wouldn't let him ruin his reputation, and having Hagrid by his side would help nobody. He spent the time between lunch and the meeting going over what he was going to say, which amounted to nothing more than pacing nervously and starting a Pepperup potion ten minutes before he had to leave even though he knew he wouldn't have enough time to finish. He vanished the few minutes of progress before heading back down to the Great Hall, which had been opened off-hours for the occasion.

The room was way, _way_ bigger than it needed to be. Rita Skeeter was there, of course, looking as revolting as always. The rest of the reporters he didn't know; the introduced themselves as being from various papers Harry hadn't heard of. Three had their own cameramen, including Rita Skeeter. Still, there were only twelve people including himself, and that hardly seemed to warrant the Great Hall. The emptiness was more imposing than if the entire room had been filled.

They sat at the end of the Gryffindor table. Harry told the story from start to finish. It was a long story and he'd told it a lot already and while he supposed the practice was good, he was getting sick of it. He had purposefully seated himself as far away from Rita Skeeter as possible but he could still see her Quick Quotes Quill flying across the page and the sight made his stomach shrivel. He had discussed it with Minerva, and after he was done talking, he changed. A lot of pictures were taken. Then he changed back and answered questions.

Rita Skeeter was the first to talk, of course.

"Tell us about the girl you rescued," she said, voice shriller than he remembered. Other than that she looked the same, down to her trademark bejeweled glasses and screamingly red nails. "Miss Jenny Weatherby?"

"Ginny Weasley," Harry corrected. "She was in the Chamber and when I stabbed the diary she was freed."

"Weasley, that would be the sister of your best friend?" she pressed.

"Yes," Harry answered.

"And how did she feel about the great Harry Potter coming to her rescue?" Rita Skeeter asked. "Surely she could not escape your charm and magnetism?"

Harry ground his teeth together. "We're friends," he said tightly. "That's it."

"Hmm."

One of the other reporters, a woman from Japan, spoke next. "After killing the serpent belonging to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, how did—"

"That was Neville," Harry interrupted. "Neville Longbottom. He killed Nagini, not me. He beheaded her with the Sword of Gryffindor."

"The same sword you used to kill the very Basilisk that attacked you," Rita Skeeter said. "The parallel cannot be ignored."

"Yes it can," Harry replied. "Nagini has nothing to do with me."

"Hmm," Rita Skeeter said again, her quill flying across the page.

"How does it feel to have killed one of your own kind?" a French man asked. He was wearing a beret and it made Harry want to punch him.

Harry sighed. "Neville killed Nagini," he repeated. "She was a snake and nothing more, and I'm glad she's dead. The Basilisk that used to live here was an uncontrolled monster and deserved to die. I have no more affiliation towards it than a werewolf has towards whoever bit him."

"The contrast between yourself and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is undeniable," the Japanese woman said. "Do you believe your relationship with him contributed to your condition?"

"No," Harry said firmly. "No, absolutely not. He's got nothing to do with this."

"The attacks in 1992 and 1993, those were the original Basilisk and not yourself?" the French reporter asked.

"Yes," Harry replied.

"But the ones three years ago were you," he continued.

Harry tapped his leg. "They were accidents, like I said."

"Do you still consider yourself the savior of the wizarding world?" Rita Skeeter cut in.

Harry glared at her. "Those were your words, not mine. You'll have to answer that one yourself."

"Going back to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," she continued, "the help you received regarding your 'condition' was from none other than a Death Eater, was it not?"

"_Severus Snape is not a Death Eater_!" Harry yelled. The reporters looked at him quizzically with the exception of Rita Skeeter, who looked like she had discovered the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. "He saved me. End of story."

A small, round man with an accent Harry didn't recognize spoke softly as he asked, "It seems the journey has taught you a great many things. Knowing what you do now, would you change how you handled the situation?"

Harry could have hugged him. Finally an actual question. "More than anything else I thought about running away. Ultimately I think it's better I stayed; it has been pointed out to me that, regardless of how I think of myself, the wizarding community looked towards me as a beacon of light and hope after Voldemort was defeated. My disappearance would have done more harm than good, and by the time the world had quieted, I was under control."

"How do you think your parents would feel about this?" Rita Skeeter asked.

Harry's jaw tightened. "The same as any other parents, I'd imagine."

"And Dumbledore? Do you think he would be proud of how you handled the situation?" she asked.

"I don't know, you'd have to ask him," Harry replied tersely.

She changed tactics. "You told us about the facts of the las three years but not the emotional effects. How does it feel?"

"Not great," Harry said. "This isn't exactly the life I would've chosen."

"Ah, but you are the Chosen One," she replied with a crafty smile. "Do you view this as another chance to prove yourself? Another obstacle to overcome to remain in the spotlight?"

"I haven't been," Harry said. "I kept it a secret as long as I could. I'm not saying that was the right thing to do, but even you can't say I'm trying for publicity."

"How would you describe your relationship with Severus Snape?" she asked.

Harry continued to tap the table angrily. "I told you, he saved me."

"How has your condition affected your other relationships?" she asked. "You said Miss Weasley is nothing more than a friend; is there another lucky girl behind the scenes?"

"No, I'm not—" Harry took a deep breath. "My friends have been nothing but supportive and my love life is none of your business."

"Would you have been able to save yourself without the help of Severus Snape?" Rita Skeeter asked. "After all that you've done, would your tortured soul have stood up to the torment?"

Harry was never good at dealing with that sort of question. "I, uh—"

"That's enough."

Harry turned. Minerva was standing in the doorway, eyes burning and lips white with anger. "You were invited into our home to learn, not to _torment_. Any further questions will be directed to me and will be passed on to Professor Potter only if I deem them appropriate. Harry, you may leave."

"Thanks, but I'll stay if it's okay with you," Harry said.

"Only under my supervision," Minerva replied, seating herself next to Harry.

"Is that because you don't trust him to project the image of Hogwarts you want the public to see?" Rita Skeeter asked eagerly.

"No, it is because you are a pathetic twat who asks questions of that nature," Minerva replied, and Harry had to snort back laughter.

The interview continued on. Minerva decided what Harry would and wouldn't answer, and while Harry felt a little babied, ultimately he was grateful. For the most part her presence was enough to stop the worst of the questions; Harry's parents weren't brought up again, nor was Dumbledore. Rita Skeeter toned down as much as she could. He was asked about the difficulties he faced while testing potions and how he planed to incorporate what he learned into teaching, as well as specifics about how his conditioned worked and what it was like.

Minerva stopped the interview at four-thirty so the Hall could be readied for dinner. Harry had no idea how he'd managed to spend two and a half hours talking, and found the ability kind of embarrassing. He went back to Severus' quarters to take a shower as Minerva escorted the reporters off campus. He felt sleazy and slimy and thought he probably reeked of what Rita Skeeter called perfume despite sitting as far away from her as possible.

Dinner was worse. Harry had let his guard down against curses and jinxes, and just as he was starting to relax a series of small snakes rained down on him, wriggling through his food, getting stuck in his hair, and falling down his shirt. They were easily banished and he supposed it was good that it was sort of a joke rather than something designed to hurt him, but he was not amused.

Then owls started to arrive. Owls carrying letters from angry parents. The letters weren't too bad, it was the Howlers that got to him. He got four, and Severus received one, which Harry thought was a particularly bad decision on the part of whoever sent it. The Howlers were humiliating, and by the end of the fourth Harry was nearly in tears. Filius was sitting next to him and when he saw how upset Harry was, he charmed the letters to sort themselves into two piles, one for hate mail and the other for letters of support. Harry was shocked that there was any supportive mail at all, let alone that the pile would actually be _bigger_ than the hate mail. The hate mail was banished, and Harry was forced to open at least one of the kind letters so he could see for himself that there were people on his side. As he was reaching for whatever letter happened to be on top an owl swooped down and dropped a letter from Dean in front of him. Time slowed as he waited for the letter to sort itself. When it landed in the good pile he nearly had a heart attack. He read the letter with shaking hands and left dinner as soon as he finished.

**52**

Monday night, on the other hand, was different. Harry was only a few feet out of the Hall when Severus fell in step beside him.

"Your lesson for tonight is cancelled," he said.

"Thanks," Harry replied. It had never even occurred to him he might have his class with Severus, and had actually forgotten such things existed.

"Minerva informed me the interview went well," Severus said.

"We'll see tomorrow," Harry replied hollowly. "Merlin knows what Rita Skeeter will say about me."

"Howlers aside, you mostly received good mail, did you not?" Severus asked. "Including from Dean Thomas?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I've got no idea why. Why from Dean, why from anyone, why I'm still here, why any of this."

"Have you decided between Germany and Brazil?" Severus asked lightly.

Harry glared at him. "Don't tease me. I'm not leaving and I don't want to be reminded of all the places I could be instead of here."

"Yet here you are," Severus reminded him. "Your resolve speaks volumes."

"Resolve is stupid," Harry said petulantly.

"Do you remember what I said about intention?" Severus asked.

Harry did. Vividly. He understood the theory behind it but the fact was that he _still_ didn't know Severus' intentions and it was going to drive him insane. That was probably not what Severus was referring to now, though. "Yeah."

"Then stop complaining," Severus said.

They reached Severus' quarters, and Harry wavered in the doorway between the lab and the living room. "Did Minerva mention how long I'm staying with you?"

"Sick of me already?" Severus asked.

Harry was astounded. Was he—joking? About emotions? "No," he replied carefully. There was definitely a right and a wrong answer and he had no idea what those answers were. "I don't want to impose and my things aren't here and you don't want to spend all your time taking care of me, so it'd probably be better if I didn't stay too long."

"You are not due to submit your first report until Sunday, so no earlier than next weekend," Severus replied.

"When do you suppose I'll start having my life taken over with chores?" Harry asked nervously.

"I would imagine you will not," Severus said, settling on the couch. "Everyone is on your side, Harry. You will not be taken advantage of."

Harry had to suppress the sudden urge to yell at Severus that he _should_ be taken advantage of, _Severus_ should take advantage, and do it right _now_. "And the students withdrawing from my classes?" he asked. "Is there a deadline for that, or will I be waiting around all year knowing that any one of them could walk out at any minute?"

"Friday by noon," Severus replied. "Minerva made the announcement at breakfast after your speech."

"Great," Harry said.

"Are you going to stand in the doorway all night?" Severus asked.

"Maybe," Harry replied moodily.

"I refuse to speak to you when you are like this," Severus said, picking up his book. "If you return to the land of the intelligent and capable, I will be here."

Harry wanted to be upset about everything that was happening. The Howlers, the interview, the rain of snakes, but he couldn't make himself focus. He was still upset, very upset, but it had nothing to do with being a Basilisk and everything to do with Severus.

He needed to know how Severus felt and what he was doing. He could live with them being close friends and nothing more and he would love to be in an actual relationship, but they had entered this weird in between state that wasn't okay. He couldn't fall asleep spooning with him and not wake up in his arms the next morning. There could be no kisses on the forehead if there weren't also kisses on the lips. He couldn't have Severus tell him he was glad he was here without knowing where here was. It was too much to ask.

More than anything, Harry wanted to go out into the Forest and spend the night as a snake. There was no chance of getting permission now, and even if for some bizarre, inexplicable reason Minerva and Severus told him he could go out, he knew it wasn't a good idea. The school needed time to adjust to his condition and flaunting wasn't the way to go about it. Short of that he wanted his own room, and he didn't even have his own _bed_.

Then he remembered all of the work he hadn't done yesterday or today, and for once he was grateful to be behind. It gave him something to do, something to focus on that wasn't excruciatingly painful. He finally came inside and settled on one of the chairs, summoning his pile of essays.

Harry should have known Severus would notice.

"You have not once sat on a chair rather than the couch," he remarked.

"Well I've only been here for a few days," Harry replied. "And there were only couches at Spinner's End and in the Chamber. I sit on chairs sometimes."

"You are upset with me," Severus countered. "You are very easy to read."

"You're wrong," Harry said, and that wasn't really true at all. He was upset with himself and the situation but yes, it was mostly Severus. "I'm upset about grading. I'm so far behind it's not funny." He paused. "Unrelated, but I think I'm going to sleep on the couch tonight. I miss having my own place, y'know, and if I am then I'm sure you are, too."

Severus didn't reply. Harry sort of wanted to examine his lack of response and sort of wanted to pretend it never happened. He went back to his essays. Thoughts of Severus kept floating in, and while he knew he should be worried about teaching tomorrow, it seemed insignificant in the face of the current hole he'd dug himself into.

The later it got the more he worried. The thought of teaching rose but Severus didn't wane, so he was filled with equal amounts of worry for both, and that was not good. His corrections grew fewer and messier as his focus drifted. Eventually he gave up entirely; it would be better to hand them back a day or two late than bollocks them up. He set his quill down on the coffee table and returned his essay to the unfinished basket and leaned back, heaving a deep sigh and closing his eyes.

"Would you like me to leave so you can go to sleep?" Severus asked coolly. Harry hadn't heard that tone in quite some time, and he didn't like it.

"No, it's fine," Harry replied. He went to the bathroom, changed and brushed his teeth, and came back out.

"Do not sit in the chair," Severus said. Harry looked at him but he was still reading his book. Of course he wasn't really, but apparently that wasn't something to acknowledge.

Harry stood awkwardly. "I'm tired," he replied. "I'd like to sit somewhere."

"There has been an unintentional consequence of your condition coming to light," Severus said. "I have been forced to speak at great length. I do not like speaking, and I especially do not like speaking about things I consider private. You came to me three and a half years ago. You closed my door and you told me your secret. Everything you, and to a lesser degree myself, have gone through is private. I have said what I had to do, but I did not like it."

Harry glanced at him. "Thank you?" he tried.

"I spoke to the Board of Governors and I spoke to Minerva," Severus continued. "I have also spoken to you. I comforted you and harassed you as the situation demanded. I told you things I never intended to share. I have opened my life to you and I have told you things."

Harry was having trouble processing. "I told you that you don't have to do that," he said. "Any of it."

"I have also repeated myself extensively because you refuse to listen, and there is very little I hate more than repeating myself," Severus said sharply. "Stop talking. I do not want to say this either, but that is my point. There are times when things need to be said regardless of whether or not I want to say them. I—" He let out an irritated sigh. "I have to repeat myself in order to tell you I am going to repeat myself. You are insufferable."

Harry sort of smiled. His heart was pounding and he was sweating and aware of each and every breath. This was it, actually it. They were going to have the conversation and then it would be done with. It would be horrendously painful and excruciatingly humiliating but then Harry wouldn't have to fall asleep with someone who didn't love him and he wouldn't be obsessed with kisses that meant nothing.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'll listen."

"I want you in my life," Severus stated. He finally looked up from his book and the intensity in his eyes was enough to make Harry's knees weak. "I want you on my couch and I want you in my bed. These past few days have been extraordinarily difficult and I could have distanced myself from you and laid the blame on your shoulders but I did not, and I do not want to. I am not easy or pleasant, I told you that, but I am here and I want to be. If you choose to sleep on the couch tonight, know that it is entirely your decision and has nothing to do with me. I will not be hurt or offended, but it is not my preference."

Harry's finger was resting against his leg, still. He didn't know how to tap his finger anymore. He was suspended. He was waiting for the rest, the part where Severus said he wanted _him_, that he wanted to do more in bed than sleep, that he wanted real kisses. He didn't say anything because he was waiting. It had to come. It _had_ to.

The silence stretched on.

"I would expect a response," Severus said, and Harry's stomach dropped. He didn't have anything more to say. It wasn't going to come. "You are usually incapable of shutting up; do not tell me you have lost your ability to speak when it matters."

Harry swallowed. "Sorry," he said vaguely. "I thought… You don't like talking. I thought I'd be doing you a favor not to respond."

"I hereby give you permission to speak," Severus replied expressionlessly.

Harry forced words out of his mouth. "I have to teach tomorrow," he said. "It's my first day teaching since this and I need to get a good night's sleep. Would you mind giving me the couch for the night?"

Severus stood without a word and swept into his bedroom. Harry sat numbly on the couch trying to convince himself to be happy. Yes, the Basilisk business was a huge mess, but if he thought about it logically, signs pointed to a good ending. No, Severus was not in love with him but what he had said, that was more than Harry could ever want from anybody, let alone Severus. He needed to be happy. He needed to get up and go apologize to Severus. There wasn't anything Harry could have said that was worse than what he'd done. If he didn't go fix things this second, everything would be gone.

The door behind him slammed open, and Harry turned. Severus was standing in the doorway, absolutely furious. Harry thought he had seen him angry before but he had been wrong. This was angry. It was beyond angry, beyond fury, beyond words. He should probably give Severus a dose of Oculus Ius before he turned Harry to stone. He wanted to look away but he couldn't. He couldn't tap his finger and he couldn't look away.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Severus hissed. "You have spent three and a half years trying to get me to open up, to tell you how I feel and what I'm thinking, and when I finally do you don't even have the courtesy to acknowledge me?" His voice was steadily rising. "After everything I've done for you and everything I've said, how dare you ignore me? I have put aside my entire life for you, and you're tired and going to sleep on the couch. I am _exhausted_. What I have done for you in the past few days alone is monumental, never mind taking you on as an apprentice or curing you of a condition that hadn't previously existed. I have _never_ given away what I have given to you. Everything that has happened between us has been instigated by you. You have _pushed _and _demanded_ and _insisted_, and when I finally give in, you turn away. Tell me, _Potter_, what heinous crime have I committed to be suddenly so deserving of your scorn?"

"Nothing," Harry said flatly. "You didn't do anything. You've been brilliant, absolutely incredible. I couldn't ask for more."

"Then what's the problem?" Severus yelled.

"I'm an idiot!" Harry exploded. "That's the problem! It has nothing to do with you, it's all me, and I'm doing my best to stop being an idiot but it's hard, it doesn't just go away. When you say things like that—" He cut himself off, turned away, and steadied himself. "What you said means everything to me, far more than what you meant. That's why I didn't say anything, because telling you would only make it worse. I can't ask for more and I won't ask for more, but just give me a night to myself, okay? I want you too, I want to be here, but I need a night to get myself together."

There was complete and utter silence. At first Harry thought Severus had just left, but then he remembered he knew what his footsteps sounded like. He knew exactly, no matter how quiet he was, and Harry would've heard if he had moved. He wanted to leave himself, wanted to be the one to get up and walk away, but he was emotionally and physically exhausted, and if he couldn't even tap his finger there was no way he could walk.

"Tell me," Severus said, words so quiet Harry could barely hear him. "After everything you have demanded from me, you owe it to me to tell me this."

"I'm so tired," Harry said. "I'm exhausted and I have to teach in the morning and I'm fucking terrified. All I want to do is go to bed with you because that's pretty much the only thing that I can count on to make me feel better. And I can't. I can't tell you why, either." His insides were shriveling and twisting and churning and he wasn't positive, but he was pretty sure he had told Severus he loved him. Not in so many words, but Severus was clever, he would have figured it out.

Another long silence not quite as long as the first followed his words.

"You are my apprentice," Severus stated. "I have been assigned to watch over you until next weekend. Additionally, your punishment dictates that, as a staff member of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I can order you to do whatever I please. Get up and come to bed with me."

Something hot exploded through Harry, starting in his chest and radiating out. It didn't help him think. "You used contractions," he said. "Before, when you were yelling. You used contractions."

"It has been known to happen when I am upset," Severus replied. "You will become intimately familiar with that particular speech pattern if you do not get up and come to bed. Today was long and stressful, as were the days before it, and there are no signs your life will become easier anytime soon. You need to sleep. _I_ need to sleep. I am not in the mood to argue. Do as I say."

Harry stood. Then his knees buckled and he sat back down. It was the exhaustion and the stress and _Severus_ and he was saying _things_ and doing _things_ and so apparently Harry couldn't stand anymore. He laughed nervously.

"I can turn into a giant deadly snake and I can't bloody walk to the bedroom," he said, standing again and finding this time he could hold himself up. He couldn't, however, look at Severus, and kept his eyes on the floor as he walked through the bedroom and to the bed, which had to be at least half a kilometer away from the couch and quite possibly more.

"I would not recommend changing now," Severus replied, lowering the fire. "Make yourself comfortable, I will be right back. That is an order."

"You're ordering me to be comfortable?" Harry asked, and he would've smiled were the situation not so strange. He got into bed as Severus left, and spent the entire time until he returned trying to figure out how to position himself. Should he face the middle of the bed? That was how they used to sleep, with Harry lying on him. Or he could lie on his right and hope Severus took the hint and spooned him again. He thought, astoundingly, Severus probably would take the hint because, again astoundingly, Harry thought he might feel the same way.

The thought washed over him. Against all odds, it seemed like Severus might love him. Be in love with him. Even if he wasn't, it was undeniable that he cared about him. A lot. More than Harry had ever been cared about before. Severus wanted him. He admitted that he wanted him. Harry couldn't grasp the concept.

Which is why he was still sitting on his pillow with only his feet under the blankets when Severus came back in those infernal black silk pajamas.

"Do you find that position comfortable?" Severus asked, crossing the room.

Harry licked his lips. "Um, no."

"Then rearrange yourself," Severus said, getting into bed and lying on his side with his head propped up on his hand, watching Harry, whose primary thought was that he looked _incredibly_ erotic like that.

Harry scooted under the blankets and lay on his back. It wasn't particularly clever or comfortable, but he couldn't figure out what else to do. Severus moved next to him and wrapped an arm around his waist, still supporting his head in the other. It meant he was looking down at Harry, studying him, and Harry couldn't breathe because even though the light was very low Severus' eyes were still burning but more of a warm fire than a blazing inferno and Harry was trapped and he didn't know what to do.

"Iwanylithss," Harry said all in one breath.

Severus frowned. "Sorry?"

Merlin, he hadn't sounded so daft since he had asked Cho Chang to the Yule Ball. He was twenty-one, not fourteen. There was no excuse. He tried again.

"I want—this," Harry stammered, and that was almost right, except he had left out a few words. "I mean." He cleared his throat. "I want you. Like this."

"Then it is a good thing I am here," Severus said softly.

Harry was trying very hard to say something. He didn't think he could stand another day of not knowing where he stood, but he was so tired and kept thinking about his classes—he'd be starting the day with Hufflepuff and Gryffindor first years, which hopefully wouldn't be too bad—but really those were just excuses. He was scared and didn't want to risk losing everything, and there was an awful lot to lose now.

Harry swallowed. He was lost in Severus' eyes—again, _no_ excuse for thinking something that stupid—but he was, and he needed to anchor himself in reality and not slip away into some fantasy world. "I think I did today wrong. Tonight, I mean. I should've celebrated getting through the day, don't you think? The interview? Instead I was responsible and graded papers, but even that I didn't finish, so maybe we should've played chess or something."

"Perhaps, but it is too late," Severus replied.

"Or, y'know, sometimes we drink to celebrate," Harry said, and he wasn't going to say what he meant and Severus _had_ to know.

"Not on a school night," Severus rebuked.

"Then—maybe a—hug, or something?" Harry stuttered. "That's celebratory, we've celebrated that way before." As soon as the words were out of his mouth he realized that Severus already had an arm around him and that was probably considered a hug.

But still, Severus squeezed him, momentarily tightening his grip before relaxing. "A physical manifestation does not matter," Severus said. "You and I both know the significance of your actions. Why can you not leave it alone?"

The answer to that was obvious and Harry was absolutely not going to say it. Good things happened when they celebrated. They made progress, their relationship moved forward, there was physical contact, and currently most relevant, they had kissed. Rather, Harry had kissed him and it had been very awkward and not a good idea, but maybe this time it would be okay. On the other hand, it wasn't going to be anything if it didn't happen.

"I dunno, most of the time when I do something good it gets covered up or blows up in my face," Harry said instead. "It's just—for everything I've done, my life has been rather anticlimactic. Aside from, y'know, killing Voldemort."

Severus laughed. An actual, real laugh. "Harry, you are so moronic it is physically painful to be around you. To think I once thought you arrogant; I could not conceive of someone more insecure than yourself. Grow up and stop seeking approval from anyone other than yourself."

Since that hadn't been Harry's point in the first place, it wasn't a particularly helpful response. "I don't want approval," he replied. "That wasn't my point. I want—" He couldn't say a kiss. "We've been through this. I want to—forget it. You've never understood the concept of celebrating."

"We have established I do indeed understand the concept," Severus said. "We will celebrate when this is over. Next Sunday when you have completed the last of your duties, we will do whatever you see fit."

"But I thought—" Harry slammed his mouth shut. He didn't think anything, he wasn't going to say what he hadn't been thinking, absolutely not.

Severus sighed. "What, pray tell, did you think?"

Harry tapped his leg. That was good, at least, that he'd regained the power of tapping. "Well, I thought I was going back to my rooms on Sunday?"

Severus tensed. It lasted less than a second, but Harry noticed. "You are correct. The following weekend, then."

"See, that's too far away," Harry said, teasing and terrifying himself with his boldness. "Then we'll just be celebrating a normal week, and while I suppose that's not a bad thing, it's not—"

"Oh, just shut up," Severus interrupted. "If there is something small and quick that can be done without getting out of bed, fine. Acquiescing to your ridiculous demands is easier than arguing. What would you have me do?"

Harry wondered if Severus had any idea of what he had just said. "Um." There had to be a way of asking without asking. He couldn't let the opportunity slip away but he couldn't _ask_. He could just do it, he supposed, that's what he had done last time, only last time he hadn't been thinking and hadn't been invited to do something _small_ and _quick_ and _without getting out of bed_, so he thought last time might not be relevant. Then again, how many things could be categorized as small and quick and without getting out of bed? Maybe that was Severus asking without asking, maybe he _should_ just do it, and then he could always blame Severus if he got yelled at. "What did you have in mind?" Shit.

"I have sleeping in mind," Severus replied, and that was drastically disheartening. "I also have everything you must do this week in mind, and if you truly need to celebrate each and every accomplishment, then you must decide on a reward that is simple and brief." He paused. "A decision that is becoming worthy of its own celebration, given how difficult you are."

Now Harry _definitely_ couldn't kiss him because then he would be implying he'd want it to be a regular thing, and of course he did, but that wasn't the point. He let out a loud sigh. "Fuck, Severus, I don't know. Forget it. Lie down properly so we can sleep."

"Harry, I told you to get comfortable before I came into bed, and again when I joined you," Severus replied, smiling slightly yet still managing to look annoyed. "What do you want?"

Harry wanted to never make a decision ever again. Possibly also to never speak again, since that only seemed to get him in trouble.

When Harry didn't answer write away, Severus added, "If you do not make a decision and let me sleep I am relegating you to the couch."

Harry rolled over so he was lying on his side facing Severus. He hadn't really thought it through; he wanted to be close, and he thought it would be close. It, um, was close. Very, very close. In fact, his entire body was pressed against Severus almost literally from head to toe, and Severus tightened his hold on him, drawing them closer, which shouldn't have been possible. Harry reciprocated, draping an arm over his waist, trying to avoid registering the silkiness beneath his hand. Severus moved his arm so he was using it as a pillow rather than propping himself up, and then their faces were also very, very close, and Harry thought he should probably move before he did something.

Severus kissed his forehead. "Good night, Harry."

Harry wanted to cry. If Severus kissed his forehead while they were like this, then there was officially no situation in which he would actually kiss him. They had never been closer, physically or emotionally, and nothing had happened. Harry rationalized that it was fine, reminded himself to stop being selfish and that this was more than he could ever hope for, and closed his eyes. He would sleep, that's what he would do, and then get up and go to breakfast, deal with whatever hate mail and Howlers arrived, teach whoever showed up, grade for the rest of his life, and then go to sleep again in Severus' bed, again in Severus' arms, again without—

Lips brushed his, so softly he barely felt it and gone so quickly he had no chance of responding. "Try to relax and get some sleep."

Severus was telling him to relax. Now. After kissing him. That was funny.

Harry decided enough was enough.

He tilted his head up and was shocked by how little he had to move to be kissing him again. Harry sighed quietly in relief and _Of course_. He had no idea what was going to happen next or what he was doing but it was worth it. Everything was worth it for this one moment. His lips were warm, soft, and the tiniest bit cracked from cold winter air. Severus moved slightly and for a moment Harry thought he was pulling away and panicked, but then he realized there was no longer an uncomfortable pressure on his nose and Severus had just shifted so the kiss was more comfortable. It sent Harry into a state of complete and utter disbelief, enough that his lips parted reflexively. Severus' lips moved with his, and then his tongue met Harry's for just a second. Then he pulled away, resting a hand on Harry's face and leaning their foreheads together.

"Sleep," he said softly.

Harry needed a few moments to catch up. He licked his lips and tasted Severus. "I—before, sleep," he stammered. "I need—what…"

"Words cannot say more," Severus replied.

"Stop it," Harry said. "You're impenetrable. Just—" He pressed their cheeks together, and Severus' hand slid to the back of his neck. "Please."

"You know," Severus answered. "You have known for a long time."

"No," Harry insisted. "No, really, I haven't, so please, just—"

Severus kissed his cheek, and Harry sighed quietly. "You do. It is very late, Harry. Sleep. We will talk later."

"We won't," Harry replied, starting to feel frantic. Everything was wild and crazy and spinning out of control and he needed an answer _now_. "You never talk, we have to—" He didn't know what. "Nothing, I mean, we should sleep, you're right, but before sleep, I—you, you have to say—"

"That I love you?" Severus interrupted, and Harry was on the edge of a cliff, barely balancing. Everything was suspended as he waited to see if he would fly or crash back to earth. The wait stretched on, and Harry thought he might be supposed to say something.

"If you—I mean, not if—" Finding words apparently wasn't an option at the moment. "You know."

"You are cheapening this with your half-spoken words and ill-equipped demands," Severus said. "I told you, words are irrelevant. I want to sleep and I do not want to leave us a mess. If I kiss you again, do you promise to stop talking?"

Harry nodded. He couldn't have said anything if he wanted to.

Severus stroked his cheek. "Okay." He kissed Harry again, capturing his lips and gently holding him in place. Harry's eyes closed and everything shut down, leaving room just for the kiss, for the falling and flying and anything but crashing to the ground. It wasn't any longer or deeper than before, but it was Severus and it was not only _of course_ but _**yes**_. At some point Severus broke away and returned his arm to around Harry's waist, and Harry curled against him, tucking his head beneath his chin, and slept.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N:** And lo, it's a chapter! For those who've asked, I'm going to keep up with the weekend publishing schedule for now. When I don't have another story to publish on MWF this will take its place, but for now you get double stories, and that's always good. Plus this will last longer!

I'm having so much fun with this story, I love it so much. It means the world to me that you guys love it, too. You're all the best :D

**Chapter Nineteen**

**53**

Harry's alarm woke him at seven. He didn't want to get out of bed. He had no idea where Severus was or what he'd be like, he had to go to breakfast where he'd be stared at, maybe more, and then the _Prophet_ would come out and Merlin knows what Rita Skeeter will have written, and then he'd spend all day teaching students who may or may not show up. Grading from the minute his last class let out, a quick dinner, then more grading until he was done, regardless of how long it took him.

Alternatively, all of his focus was on Severus, and he didn't care about the rest. He would when it was happening, probably, but that was not now. Now he could hear Severus moving around in the living room, and that was all that really mattered.

Harry allowed himself a moment to lose himself in the memory of last night before getting up. His overnight bag was still in the living room, giving him no excuse to linger. It wasn't that he didn't want to see Severus, because he really, really did, it was just that he thought the odds of Severus acknowledging what had happened, verbally or physically, were approximately zero. Nothing ever changed, he reminded himself. Things would seem like they were going to change, and then they wouldn't. The key was to not get his hopes up.

Harry shuffled into the living room. Severus was at his desk grading and drinking a cup of coffee. He glanced up when Harry came in before returning to his papers. Harry's stomach dropped. That bit about not getting his hopes up? Harry was never good at that. He dug through his bag, realizing he'd only brought one set of teaching robes, and they had gotten quite wrinkled from spending the weekend shoved into the bottom of his bag. He retreated into the bathroom, changed, and splashed water onto his face. His reflection stared back at him, looking like a wreck. His hair was sticking out in all directions, his robes were a mess, there were deep bags under his eyes, and everything from his expression to his posture spoke of worry and unhappiness.

He squared his shoulders and lifted his head. A quick ironing spell Hermione had taught him years ago, and he no longer looked as though he had been sleeping in the woods for a week. A brief thought of Germany and Brazil, just in case. Hair aside, he looked better. Not fantastic, but better.

"Are you coming to breakfast?" he asked as he put his pajamas back into his bag. "You look busy."

"Merely managing my time well," Severus replied. The words had no effect on Harry; he had bigger things to worry about than what Severus thought of his time management skills. "The _Prophet_ is on the coffee table."

Harry's heart squeezed. Things like that. He approached it the same way he would a bomb, carefully sneaking around the couch and slowly sneaking up on the paper. It was folded in half the wrong way so he could only see half the headline and subtitle. Feeling as though he had every right to think the paper might explode, he flipped it the rest of the way open with the tip of his wand.

**OUR SAVIOR'S SECOND SCAR**

**The heroic conquering of a tragic curse.**

A positive spin? Really? Since when did Rita Skeeter know there was such a thing? Harry picked up the paper and skimmed through the article. The headline pretty much said it all; a tortured soul struggling to become the normal boy he would never be. Years of trials and tribulations searching for a cure, all while battling Voldemort. Finally finding freedom at the hands of a former Death Eater, infamous killer of Albus Dumbledore and vindicated spy Severus Snape. Seeking absolution and redemption by committing his life to teaching the very art that cured him. If Harry hadn't been so relieved that he wasn't being lynched he would've been disgusted. There was a photograph of him mid-change, head thrown back in pain as his body lengthened.

"Did you read this?" Harry asked, tossing the paper down in shock.

"I had the misfortune of the drivel passing before my eyes, yes," Severus replied, and Harry had to bite back a hysterical laugh. He was going to be okay. He had no idea how things were going to go with Severus, but at least he wasn't going to be exiled or jailed.

"I know it's drivel, but at least it's positive drivel," Harry said cheerfully. "I know it's not going to just go away, and I absolutely hate to say it, but she has an influence and however inane she is, at least she's on my side." He glanced back down at the photograph of himself writhing in agony. "Roughly speaking. Anyway, breakfast?"

Severus waved his hand, cleaning his desk and rising gracefully. "Yes."

They left and walked down to the Hall together in silence, Harry growing progressively more nervous. The article was a lot better than it could have been, but he'd still be a lot happier if he weren't in the paper in the first place. And Severus was being quiet, though he was usually quiet, but this quiet could mean something. As expected, the Hall grew quiet when Harry entered, but conversation resumed fairly quickly. For the first time since this began there were two open seats next to each other at the High Table—of course, it would be this morning, after what happened last night, that they would sit together.

"Hey Harry," Neville said amicably, passing him the tea without being asked. "We haven't had the chance to talk and breakfast isn't the time, but know I'm on your side, yeah?"

Harry smiled. "Yeah, thanks. Sorry I couldn't tell you Saturday, things were kind of—"

"No worries," Neville interrupted. He glanced around and dropped his voice. "Thanks for not mentioning me."

Harry started. It didn't occur to him that Ron, Hermione, and Neville had already known and could have gotten in as much trouble as he had. "Of course," he said quietly.

"Anyway, got any idea when you're moving back?" Neville asked in his normal voice.

Severus, who had been reaching for the maple syrup, jerked slightly, upsetting the jar. Harry's stomach was doing all sorts of strange things that didn't go well with eating, and the cleaning spell he cast came after the one Severus used, thus accidentally vanishing the syrup all together.

"Idiot," Severus muttered under his breath, summoning another jar from halfway down the table.

"Never mind," Neville said, clearly holding back a smile. "I didn't know it was such a sensitive topic."

"It's not," Harry replied quickly. "Sunday, I think. It depends on how things go. I've got forms and teaching and permission to get, but probably Sunday."

"Mm, right," Neville said. Harry shot him a furious glance, and the topic of conversation quickly changed.

Just before it was time to leave, Minerva came up behind them, interrupting a heated debate regarding the Chudley Cannons.

"Harry, good to see you survived the press," she said with a small smile.

"Yeah," he replied awkwardly. "It's, y'know. Better than it could've been."

"Indeed." She shifted, looking away from a moment before meeting his eyes. "I have just been informed of another group of—_visitors_ to see you this afternoon. A team of Healers will be arriving from St. Mungo's after lunch to—" Her lips thinned. "They were not clear on what they will be doing, but I have been promised no harm will come to you."

Harry paled. "Um. I have classes—"

"Cancelled," she interrupted.

Once upon a time he'd known that was one of the big reasons he didn't want anyone to know, because he'd be tested and poked and prodded and examined and sampled for the rest of his life, but it had slipped his mind in the advent of general acceptance. "I, um." He swallowed. "Okay?"

"You will meet them in the infirmary, and Poppy will supervise," Minerva said. "I reminded them you are a human and a person first and foremost, but it seemed my words fell on deaf ears."

That was encouraging. "Right."

"Good luck, both with the Healers and with teaching," she said, and left.

Neville gave him a sympathetic look, and Harry turned to Severus. "Can you—?"

"If it is beyond Minerva's control then it is beyond mind," Severus replied.

"You'll be fine," Neville said helpfully. "You can always kill them with your eyes, right?"

Harry glared at him. "Not funny."

"Not incorrect," Severus added so quietly Harry could barely hear him.

It was with that thought Harry left to prepare for his first class.

**54**

Teaching went a lot better than expected. Given the supportive owls and the positive article Harry shouldn't have been surprised, but hardly any students didn't show up. He missed more Hufflepuffs than any other house, apparently in solidarity for their former housemates. He started each lesson asking if there were any questions so he could answer them straight from the source and then move on. There was only one particularly nasty question from a Slytherin fourth year regarding his status as the Heir of Slytherin and whether or not he thought the Dark Lord would have been proud. Harry calmly responded by asking whether the student would rather an answer, points deducted, or detention, and that ended that.

Lunch was drastically unpleasant. Granted, it was the first meal where all conversation didn't stop as soon as he entered the Hall, there were considerably less stares than before, and there wasn't one Howler, but he was too nervous to eat. He was sitting with Neville, who kept trying to get him to eat, but not even the raw chicken the elves sent up was appetizing. He managed a few bites of the chicken and a spoonful or two of soup, but other than that he stuck to chamomile tea. He left early, arriving at the hospital wing at five of one.

The Healers were already there. Poppy Pomfrey was glaring at them as they took over her infirmary, setting up contraptions Harry had no words for. One of them, a youngish blonde woman, tried to wave him over as soon as he came in but Poppy ushered him away. She told them sharply they shouldn't have arrived until quarter after one at all, and they wouldn't have access to Harry until then. She ushered him into her office, gave him more tea, and told him that they had gotten permission from the Board of Governors and that was the only reason they were allowed here. She would be there the whole time, and while he was in his Basilisk form, one tap of the tail would mean yes or that he was okay, and two would be no or stop immediately.

Harry hadn't been feeling particularly good about this in the first place, but after twenty minutes of Poppy fussing over him, he was downright terrified. When she finally let him out of her office and over to the Healers, he was almost glad they were starting so they would eventually be done. The blonde woman who had started to greet him before introduced herself as Healer Stark, and assured him that she and her team would only be performing the most basic and routine of tests. When Harry asked what routine was for a Basilisk, she pursed her lips, handed him a hospital gown, and told him to change.

It wasn't too bad at first. He had blood drawn—a lot of blood, he had to look away from the vials so he didn't get dizzy—vitals checked, gave samples of things he would rather not have given samples of, and answer a nearly infinite number of questions. He wished Severus was there to explain the finer points of the potions; he could explain most of it, but not where the idea for the bases had come from, or the exact process by which he had made modifications.

Then came the part he was dreading. First they had him change back and forth for nearly an hour while they poked, prodded, photographed, documented, took more samples, and generally annoyed the hell out of him. He also learned that, even with the Lenimen Curatio, changing started to get painful after a while. Healer Stark got huffy when he said enough, but Poppy backed him up, and eventually she relented.

He turned again so they could examine his Basilisk form. He was rather pleased by how skittish they were at first, but the novelty quickly wore off. His scales were quite tough, but the Healers were prepared. They were skittish around his fangs, but they were agile. They avoided his line of sight until they finally believed Oculus Ius worked. Harry felt like a show dog, lying still with his mouth open and body stretched as they inspected him, and it wasn't a feeling that sat well with him.

There were two near disasters. The first came when one of the Healers asked if he could take a small scale for further study. After some hesitation Harry agreed, assuming it would be like pulling out a hair—painful, but quick and harmless. That was not the case. At first he couldn't feel anything, but the line between nothing and suddenly agonizing was very small. He hissed loudly and jerked his tail away, knocking over a Healer on his other side, as well as a great deal of beds in the part of the infirmary they weren't using. Poppy started to tell them to stop, but by then the scale was half out, and it was like having a fingernail fall off: it would be better to just get it over with. He let out another agonized hiss as it was removed and vowed to never, _ever_ do _anything_ that could cause him to lose a scale again.

The second scare was because of an incredibly stupid Healer who tried to milk Harry's fang without warning him. He shrieked in combined surprise, pain, and violation and reared his head back. His teeth sunk into the Healer's arm, who started screaming. Poppy was at her side a second later and healed the wound with no difficulty. She had been gouged by regular, non-poisonous teeth, but by then she was in full on hysterics, and had to be taken aside and given a dose of calming draught. After that, everything they did was explained loudly, repeatedly, and in excruciating detail. Harry refused to give them any venom at all until the order for the testing from the Governors was shown to him, and even then only a few drops. Before he had felt like a dog; now he was a bloody cow.

After that they were back to poking and prodding. Then they made Harry change back and forth a few more times, each time doing identical lengthily tests in both states. Finally he was once more thoroughly examined in his natural human state.

By the time they finally left, Harry was thoroughly miserable. He had missed dinner, every bone and muscle ached, he was light headed from all the blood that had been drawn, he was covered in needle pricks and "testing goo", which he didn't understand, and generally felt like he'd been run over by a bus. Poppy gave him a few sips of Blood Replenishing Potion that helped with his color but not the dizziness, a couple drops of Dittany to help with the puncture marks, and a full dose of Pepperup. All of that helped, but he still felt like he'd been hit by a bus, just a slightly smaller bus.

Harry wasn't able to leave until quarter of eight. He thought briefly about stopping by the kitchens for some dinner before deciding he was too achy and unpleasant to walk all the way down and back up. Instead he went straight to Severus' quarters, running into him in the lab.

"There is dinner in the kitchen," Severus said.

"Ugh," Harry replied. Digesting sounded painful.

"Your Felix Felicis needs work," Severus added. "I suspended it on Sunday, but it can only be held back for so long."

Harry groaned. He glanced at the cauldron that had been softly simmering for the past week and a half. He couldn't remember what he had last done to it, let alone what came next. He shuffled over to the directions, then to the apothecary to fetch a unicorn horn to powder. Heaven forbid he use store-bought powdered horn; no, the instructions specifically said freshly powdered, so that's what he would do. He could, however, take the easy way out. He brought the horn, a sheet of plastic, and a small jar into the nearest empty classroom and changed into a Basilisk. It might have caused excruciating pain, but smashing the horn with his tail took an impossibly small fraction of the time it would take to powder as a human. He slumped back into the lab, added the horn and stirred for the requisite five minutes, and finally went into the living room.

Harry had never seen a couch look so tempting. He was also fully aware that he was still covered in goo and couldn't sit anywhere until he showered. Despite not being able to lie down, the hot water and strong pressure felt fantastic, and he almost felt okay by the time he stepped out. Then, of course, he dried off and changed into his pajamas, and once he was no longer under the stream, all of his aches and pains returned. His stomach rumbled unpleasantly and he silently told the organ to go fuck itself, bypassing dinner in favor of going straight to bed.

As soon as he was comfortable, his brain supplied him with a list of everything he should be doing instead of lying down. Eating, obviously. Grading. Going over tomorrow's lesson plans. Going to his proper room and getting a fresh set of teaching robes. Having a conversation with Severus about—

He cut the thought off. He could berate himself all he wanted for falling behind with his work but not for that. His relationship with Severus had always been defined by glacial slowness and leaving things unspoken. He might want to talk to Severus tonight but he wasn't going to, and he wasn't going to feel bad about it. Instead he was going to sleep off what the Healers had done to him and get up early to do his work. Then he remembered he had first period off and smiled. He not only didn't have to get up early but could actively sleep in, and still get his work done. Tomorrow would be good.

Quiet footsteps, and then the door opened slightly.

"Are you all right?"

"Healers is a misnomer," Harry muttered into his pillow.

A pause. "What did they do?"

"I dunno," Harry replied despondently. "Did tests. Drew blood. Made me change over and over again." He jerked up, pushing himself onto his elbows. "_They tried to milk me_."

Severus was making a very complicated expression, and if Harry didn't know better he thought he might be trying not to laugh. Harry gritted his teeth. He might not know better. "I am sorry."

"They had their hands in my mouth and they tried to fucking _milk my venom_," Harry yelled. "You couldn't possibly—I bit her, y'know. Not with my fangs or anything, she's fine, but _she had her hand in my mouth because she was trying to milk me_."

Severus scratched an itch just next to his nose, face twitching slightly. "That must have been very unpleasant."

He was trying not to laugh. Harry was going to kill him. "They didn't even bother to tell me! First they yanked out a fucking scale—I had to have Dittany for that, once I was a human again—and then they _milked me_ on the _Board of Governor's orders_." Severus burst into laughter. Harry chucked his pillow at him, which didn't help. "You don't understand! I was like a bloody cow, like they were raping a fucking _cow_ and their hands—_stop laughing it's not funny!_"

"I know," Severus choked out, a hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry. You have to understand; the concept of—" He took a minute. "—milking the savior of the wizarding world is—"

"_Not funny_!" Harry interrupted, throwing Severus' pillow at him as well. "Now give me those back, everything hurts and I want to sleep."

Severus regained himself very quickly and handed the pillows back, coming to sit on the bed next to Harry. "I apologize, truly. Are you all right?"

"Yes," Harry muttered, curling up under the blankets again. "Lenimen Curatio is great, but it doesn't work if you have to change every two minutes for an hour straight. Plus needles and my scale and 'testing goo', whatever the hell that is. Everything hurts."

"Did Poppy give you anything?" Severus asked, brushing Harry's fringe out of his face.

For a moment Harry couldn't remember. "Yeah, uh, Dittany and Pepperup and, um, Blood Replenishing Potion for all the blood they took."

Severus frowned. "They took that much?"

"Yes," Harry said bitterly. "But it's fine. I'm not dizzy anymore and I took the potion and it's fine. Really, I'm just sore from changing so much."

"You should have called me," Severus replied sharply. "Or told me when you came back. You know I am skilled at such spells."

"Really, I'm okay," Harry insisted, trying not to show how much he liked Severus worrying over him. Also that the longer the conversation went on the more he was aware that he was in bed and Severus was sitting next to him and last night they had kissed and he would very much like to have that happen again.

"Shall I let you sleep, then?" Severus asked.

Harry's stomach twisted. "I'm mostly just lying down because everything hurts. You can stay or not."

"What would you like?"

"I want you to do what you want to do," Harry said. "You've said you need time and you should take it if you want. I'm okay either way."

"My preference would be to raise the light level and read in bed," Severus replied.

Harry smiled slightly. "That'd be fine."

"Okay, I will be right back." He rested a hand on Harry's shoulder for a moment before leaving. Harry rolled over so he'd be facing Severus, not allowing himself to think about why. He was sore and rearranging himself, that was all, and not angling for snuggling or a kiss or anything like that. Severus returned, raised the fire, and got into bed. He had changed into his pajamas. Harry was getting really frustrated with those pajamas. Severus settled himself, and Harry realized he had no idea how to ask if he could move closer because they didn't really ask, they just did.

He supposed he could just do. It was just that he had said he didn't want to be stuck with Harry's problems. On the other hand, he'd also said that he wanted Harry, and wanted Harry in his bed.

This was why Harry wished they talked.

In lieu of talking, Harry shuffled closer. Not as close as he wanted to be, but closer. What he actually wanted was to use Severus' lap as a pillow, which he had done before, but he didn't initiate physical contact, not this time. Not that Severus wasted any time in doing so. He wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders, and Harry decided that putting his head on his lap would be fine, so he did. It was fine.

Harry wasn't aware he had drifted off to sleep until Severus shifted and woke him up.

"Mm, sorry," Harry mumbled, moving off his lap and rolling onto his other side.

"You were fine," Severus replied quietly. He turned and wrapped himself around Harry, who sighed contentedly. "Go back to sleep."

"Mhm," Harry said. He wasn't so asleep he wasn't aware of what he was doing, but he thought he could pretend to be that asleep. He turned his head back, hoping for something that was almost certainly not going to happen.

Instead of not happening, Severus kissed him gently. "Sleep well."

Harry found his hand and laced their fingers together. "You too."


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N:** I just love the enthusiasm I'm getting for this story! You guys are all brilliant, I love you to pieces. I think you will like this chapter too… Just a guess ;)

**Chapter Twenty**

**55**

The rest of the week was, all things considered, pretty good. Only three students dropped out of his classes entirely—the two Slytherin second years he had scared in detention and a Hufflepuff who was the younger sister of one of the Prefects—the letters slowly dwindled, both supportive and angry, with the last Howler arriving Thursday at breakfast, and the stares and general novelty seemed to wear off.

Wednesday morning Harry fetched more teaching robes from his room and brought them to Severus' quarters. He started to put them in his bag when Severus snapped that he was so wrinkled and disorderly he looked worse than Remus after a full moon, and he might as well hang them up properly in his closet. Harry decided not to have a heart attack over this, and calmly moved them to the closet before going down to breakfast. Wednesday was also the day he resumed his private lessons with Severus, which wasn't so much a lesson as taking stock of Harry's potions, throwing out the old ones, and then doing the math and figuring out exactly how much he could have on store at any moment, and replenishing.

Harry continued to share a bed with Severus and to fall asleep wrapped in his arms, both of which went unmentioned. Harry couldn't think of anything to celebrate on Wednesday, and since he was already in good spirits and didn't need comforting, there was no excuse to ask for a kiss, so he didn't. He had no idea what Severus thought about the situation.

Harry was officially caught up with his work by his last class on Friday and fully enjoyed his free time before dinner. He joined Neville in the greenhouses, tagging along as his friend pruned and watered and gave explanations that flew over his head.

"So things with you and Snape," Neville said suddenly as he collected pus from a Mimbulus mimbletonia. "How's that?"

"Fine," Harry replied nonchalantly. "No different than usual."

Neville glanced at him. "You're living together and nothing's changed?"

Harry shrugged. "We lived in the Chamber for all of my eighth year, and I've stayed with him at Spinner's End for the holidays. If we couldn't coexist by now, we'd have killed each other ages ago."

"So does he have a second room or something?" Neville asked, carefully squeezing a pustule into a vial.

"No, I've been on the couch," Harry said evenly. He'd been prepared for these questions, especially that one. "It's not the comfiest thing ever, but it's fine."

"And you'll be back on Sunday?" Neville pressed.

"I haven't talked to Minerva about it but yeah, I think so," Harry said. "Dunno why I wouldn't be. My well-being has been established, I've dealt with the students, parents, and papers, and my first report will go in Sunday morning. I'll probably be back after breakfast."

Neville was silent for a few moments. "That's what you want?"

"Yeah, of course," Harry lied. "I miss my own room and my things and my bed." One of those things was true. He was apparently incapable of remembering everything he used on a day-to-day basis and had to continually go back to his rooms to get a particular book or a new pot of ink. "Besides, you're better company than he is."

Neville snorted. "I might be easier to live with, but I know whose company you'd prefer. It's fine, I like having you around. I'm just saying you might be happier staying with him."

"Even if that was true, which it isn't, that's not going to happen," Harry said. "I've only lived with him out of necessity. As soon as he's no longer obligated he'll kick me out."

"If you say so," Neville replied dubiously. "Rather, I'm sure he will because he's incapable of expressing himself or coming off as anything but an arse, but if you asked, I bet he'd let you stay."

"I don't want to stay," Harry said again.

"You're a terrible liar," Neville replied. "What was that business with the maple syrup the other day? Last time I asked you, Snape poured syrup all over the table and you vanished the whole thing."

"I dunno, I was thinking about other things," Harry said defensively. "I'm sure he was too. Why do you care so much anyway? You're making way too big a deal out of this."

"I told you over break," Neville said. "You're doing something stupid; I'm just checking in on your progress."

"There's no progress because there's nothing stupid happening," Harry insisted. The kisses flashed through his mind. Those wouldn't be considered stupid, not in the slightest, of course not.

"I don't know why you're so upset because someone cares about you," Neville said, moving onto the next plant. "It's good. You deserve to be happy."

"I am happy," Harry said irritably. "Everything's fine and nothing stupid is happening."

"You'd be happier if you talked to him about it."

"I wouldn't because there's nothing to talk about!" Harry exclaimed. "Even if there was, he doesn't talk about things, but there isn't, so stop going on about it!" He kicked the leg of the table, and the Mimbulus mimbletonia shot pus in all directions, covering both himself and Neville.

"Real convincing, that."

**56**

Harry ended up sending Minerva the list of his potions Saturday night. He'd had a particularly unsuccessful day in terms of brewing—the Felix Felicis was getting too runny and it took all morning to fix, and he spent the afternoon poking through the apothecary chest looking for inspiration and not finding any—and he figured as long as he was doing annoying, mindless tasks, he might as well get that out of the way, too.

It was only after he sent the letter that the implications occurred to him.

Severus was on the couch. Harry stood from the desk and walked over to him, repressing the urge to fidget.

"I sent the report to Minerva," he said. "And left you a copy on your desk."

"Good," Severus replied, not looking up.

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets. Technically he should leave. He was free. He could move back to his own quarters with Neville and everything would go back to how it had been. "Is there, er, anything else I should do?" he asked, leaning on the armrest.

"Do not ruin my furniture," Severus said, and Harry jumped up. "Beyond that, the night is yours."

Harry chewed on his lip. Apparently Severus didn't remember, or maybe the terms of his living arrangements had been changed, or—

Severus sighed. "What, Harry?"

Harry's stomach fluttered slightly at the use of his first name. No matter how many times Severus said it, he always had the same reaction. "When am I supposed to go back to my room?" he asked, really not wanting to. If Severus had forgotten, that would mean—mean that Harry was overanalyzing.

On the other hand, judging from the way his eyes widened just slightly and his grip on his book slackened for no more than a quarter of a second, he had indeed forgotten. "If the report has been submitted, you may leave." Severus' words were hard and cold, but no more than usual.

Harry glanced at the clock. "It's kind of late," he said, which was true. Ten thirty was definitely "kind of" late; not actually late, but kind of. "Would you mind if I stayed an extra night? I'd rather not deal with moving all of my things back now, and I don't want to bother Neville. He's usually in bed by now." That was definitely true, though he wasn't sure how bringing an overnight bag through the living room had anything to do with his sleep schedule.

Severus eyed him. "I assume you also feel the need to celebrate the week?"

Harry couldn't believe that hadn't occurred to him. "I did do a lot," he replied with a bit of a smile. "And I'm pretty sure you promised me last weekend we could do something."

Severus rolled his eyes. "I did not. I offered the possibility of next weekend, nothing more." He paused. "Additionally, I believe we did celebrate that night, however small it was."

Harry's heart was pounding in his throat. "That was when we thought I'd be busy all weekend," he countered. "I'm not. I've got the rest of tonight and I don't have to get up tomorrow. And." He tried to tap his finger but it was trapped in the confines of his pocket. "That was pretty small."

Severus set his book down. "What did you have in mind?"

Harry had an opening. He could say that what they had done before was small, so they should escalate that celebration. It would almost make sense for him to say something like that. He even knew the words to use: _Why don't we start where we had been and go from there?_ But that sounded like a cheesy, sleazy cliché even in his head, and was far too risky anyways. Besides, he didn't think Severus had meant to offer an opening, so he should just let it go, no matter how tempting it was.

"A game of chess?" Harry suggested.

"All right." He summoned the board and pieces as Harry sat on the couch, thinking very hard about how much room to leave between them and not doing anything particularly clever about it. In fact, he ended up on the divide between two cushions, which wasn't comfortable at all, and had to rearrange himself, all while looking like an idiot.

The game wasn't particularly celebratory, at least on Harry's end. He was too busy not wanting to move back to his rooms and thinking about the kisses and what they might mean, especially since Severus had called them small (not that they weren't, physically, but Harry didn't think the physical part was most relevant), not to mention feeling absolutely daft for letting those things get to him after the week he'd had. He _should_ be celebrating, he had every right to celebrate, and instead he was sulking. It was pathetic.

Severus destroyed him, no doubt due to his distraction.

"Again?" Harry asked. "It's my celebration, I ought to win at least once."

The corners of Severus' lips turned up. It wouldn't count as a smile on anyone else, but for Severus it was akin to an ear-to-ear grin. "If you do not play better, I am afraid we will be here all night."

"Does that mean I can stay over?" Harry asked lightly, setting his pieces back.

"I am aware you consider physical affection to be an integral part of any celebration," Severus said. "You may stay."

That wasn't a bad answer, not necessarily. "You were the one who started it last time," Harry replied, and that was really, very stupid.

Severus' voice cracked in the middle of making his first move, and his pawn crossed its arms and glared at him, situating itself between two spaces. Severus snapped directions at the piece and kept his eyes on the board. "You were in equal need of celebration and sleep. It seemed simplest."

"I know, I'm just saying," Harry replied. "I'm not the only one who starts these things."

"You are the one who needs them," Severus said. "It is your move."

Harry moved a pawn forward. "Are you saying that every time—"

"I am not saying anything!" Severus interrupted irritably. "You are forever trying to draw conclusions from the smallest of actions. If you insist on such a conversation, I would remind you that particular form of celebrating was instigated by you last summer."

"No, that'd be you on New Year's Eve last year," Harry countered.

"A brief kiss on the forehead on New Year's is not the same as what you did," Severus replied, eyes dark and burning. Harry would have given anything to know why.

"Which isn't the same as ordering me into bed and kissing me there," Harry said, walking a line he didn't want to be anywhere near. He'd specifically decided not to have this conversation. "You're right, it doesn't matter. It's your turn."

Severus briefly addressed the board. "What was your point?"

"Nothing," Harry replied, an edge starting to creep into his voice. He was nervous and scared and had way too much resting on this. "That I'm not as pathetic as you think I am. I might like physical contact, but so do you, even if you'll never admit it."

"I am sick of words," Severus said angrily. "They are useless, unnecessary and tiresome. You are repeating that which we both know, and for what? A verbal confirmation of what is shown far better with actions. If you have something to say, make sure you do not already know the answer and are not merely reiterating."

"Do I have to go back to my room?" Harry blurted out. "I mean, after tonight?"

"No," Severus replied shortly, still sounding angry. "Pay attention to the game. Once again it is your turn."

Harry thought that a very apt statement and one that had nothing to do with chess. He was relatively sure Severus hadn't meant it that way and was genuinely annoyed with him for holding up chess, since of course that was the only game they were playing. Then again, Harry was almost positive Severus said he could move in with him, so everything else seemed rather unimportant. He forced himself back to chess. Unsurprisingly, he lost that game as well. Harry felt it reasonable that he was a bit preoccupied.

"When I stated we would be up all night waiting for you to win if you did not pick up your game, I was not implying I would enjoy such a thing," Severus said, resetting the board. "At least make an effort."

"I've been making an effort," Harry replied. "They might not have been impressive, but I've been trying."

"No, you have been distracted," Severus said. "Pawn to e4."

Harry couldn't argue with that, and focused on the game. Actually focused, which made it all the more embarrassing when he still lost. He still wasn't as good as Severus, but over the years he had become a fairly decent player, and it was rare that he lost three games in a row, especially each one so catastrophically. The first two were excusable but he really had been paying attention during the last game.

"It is after midnight and I am going to bed," Severus announced. "Three games is celebratory enough; it is not my fault if you are incompetent."

"I'm not sure if calling me incompetent counts as celebrating," Harry replied with a smile. "Rematch tomorrow?"

"I have work to do," Severus replied. "Just because you do not teach on Mondays does not mean all of us are so lucky."

"Well, after work," Harry said, following Severus into the bedroom.

Severus paused for a moment before answering. "I thought you might want to go into the Forest tomorrow night."

Harry jerked to look at him. "You think Minerva would let me?"

"I see no reason why not," Severus replied.

Harry saw a lot of reasons but he kept them to himself, opting to go to the bathroom rather than argue against himself. Halfway through putting on his pajamas—quite literally, he had one leg in his flannel bottoms and one out—a thought struck. If Severus had actually invited him to move in, and if they continued to sleep as they were and Severus didn't add a room to his quarters for Harry, would he be stuck changing in the bathroom forever? It wasn't a problem, it just seemed like a short-term solution, and if the problem was going to become long term… Harry shook himself and finished dressing. He had no idea if that's what Severus had actually meant and if it was, he would almost certainly get his own room, and he would change there and sleep there in his own bed, which definitely didn't defeat the purpose of moving in at all.

Harry pushed the thoughts away as he went back to the bedroom. Severus had already changed and was in bed, and Harry was amazed that it already felt normal to get into bed with him. The thought that this might be the last night sharing his bed was incredibly disheartening, and he moved into Severus' arms without his usual reserve or hesitation, the usual worry over what he would think replaced with a need to be with him as long as he could.

A considerable while later Severus spoke.

"Harry?"

Harry tilted his head up to look at him. He was using Severus as a pillow as usual, one of Severus' arms around his shoulder, his other hand holding Harry's, and so while the angle might have been awkward, he was in no hurry to rearrange himself to see an expression he wouldn't be able to understand in the first place.

"Yeah?"

"I feel rather hypocritical after lecturing you regarding the value of silence, but I require clarification," Severus said.

"About what?" Harry asked, starting to tap nervously.

Severus tightened his grip on his hand, stilling his finger. "After tonight."

Harry waited for the rest of the sentence before realizing there wasn't one. He supposed saying he needed his own clarification before he could answer Severus' question wouldn't earn him any points. "Er, yeah," he said, not knowing if that was a real answer or not.

A brief silence. "Well?"

"Um," Harry tried. "What about after tonight?"

"That would be my question," Severus replied. "What were you asking?"

Harry wished he could tap. It wouldn't actually help, but it felt like it would. "Er, well. If I could stay. Here, after tonight."

Severus sighed irritably. "That is what you said before. Are you requesting to do your work tomorrow in my quarters? Do you wish to spend the evening here instead of in the Forest? Would you like to spend one more night? Were you asking for a more permanent move?"

"I can work wherever," Harry replied quietly. "I'd love to go out. And, er." He fidgeted. "I wouldn't ask that. You need space?" It came out as a question, which was not intentional.

"I have survived living with you for quite some time," Severus said, and Harry was thrumming with excitement and nerves and hope and fear. "In the Chamber and at Spinner's End. If it was important to you, arrangements could be made."

"You started the conversation," Harry said nervously. "What do you want?"

Severus was filled with silences, and it took him quite some time to answer. "It would be acceptable."

"Acceptable isn't enough for something like this," Harry replied, ignoring the voice in his head that was telling him to shut up and take what he could get. "If you don't actively want me here, I'm fine with Neville."

Severus let out a quiet groan, sounding as if he thought himself to be the most put-upon person to ever have lived. Then again, he probably did think that. "I do not take this lightly. Acceptable is—"

"All you can manage?" Harry supplied before realizing how rude that sounded. "I mean—no, I thought—I was—"

"Shut up," Severus snapped. "If you wish to live here, I would—" He broke off and muttered something unintelligible under his breath. "Yes. You may live here. I want you here."

Harry relaxed and exploded at the same time. "That'd be good."

"Fine."

Harry spent a few moments trying to formulate as few questions as possible to get as much information as he could. Now didn't seem like a good idea to annoy Severus. He supposed it boiled down to two issues, and he wasn't going to bring up the kissing again. "Am I going to stay in your room?"

"Yes," Severus replied firmly, and the conviction in his voice was enough to make Harry bold. He twisted further around and gently pressed his lips to Severus' cheek.

"I'll get my things tomorrow, then?"

In the time it took between his question and Severus' answer, Harry realized how incredibly stupid that had been. He had just been granted permission to move in—and not only move in, but share a room and a bed—and then he had kissed Severus. Could he have been any more obvious?

"Yes, if you have time," Severus replied.

"And, er, places for—?"

"You will have accommodations," Severus said.

"Right, thanks," Harry replied faintly, settling into his arms. He didn't trust himself to say anything else without saying everything, or at the very least spewing out several thousand questions. He'd already pushed his luck. It was officially time to quit while he was ahead.

**57**

After breakfast Harry followed Neville back to their rooms—_Neville's_ room, he reminded himself. Not his. Neville went to work watering one of the many plants on the windowsill while Harry stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, trying to figure out how to tell Neville he was moving out, especially when the day before he'd insisted that was the last thing he'd wanted. Probably best to just be out with it.

"I'm moving in with Severus."

"Yeah, all right," Neville replied, moving onto the next plant. "I think this is where I should say I told you so."

"No," Harry said stupidly. "No, it's not stupid. I'll be closer to the lab and have more time to work."

"Says the person who complains he's perpetually overworked," Neville said. "Are you going to live on his couch for the rest of your life?"

Harry probably should have prepared for that question. "I'm, uh, I'll have my own space."

Neville glanced at him. "You have become a very unconvincing person, Harry Potter. Please don't tell me you're so stupid you're trading your own room for a couch."

"I'm not," Harry snapped. "I'm not stupid and I won't be sleeping on the couch. Look, I've got to pack so I can unpack and work and hopefully go out tonight, so—"

Neville's eyes widened and he almost dropped the watering can. "Oh Merlin, are you sleeping together?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed. "No, of course not! I'm going to pack." He quickly went into his room before Neville could ask any more questions. He thought it probably didn't matter, that Neville had formed his own conclusions and wouldn't be dissuaded, but he also thought that he could only make things worse.

There was also the fact that Neville's conclusions weren't incorrect.

Harry focused on packing instead. He put an Extension Charm on his trunk and, with a sweep of his wand, all of his things flew into the trunk, neatly folded and organized. He did the same in the living room and bathroom. He really loved magic. Neville didn't say anything else, just watered his plants in silence as Harry went around and checked that nothing had been left behind.

"Okay," Harry muttered to himself, casting a levitation spell on his trunk. "Neville, we're okay, right?"

Neville gave him a bemused smile. "Yeah, we're fine. Go on, enjoy whatever it is you do with Snape."

"It's not what you think," Harry replied, starting out the door.

"Not yet, maybe."

Harry got maybe ten feet down the hall before abruptly turning around and sprinting back to Neville's rooms. He opened the door and said, "He almost told me—_ow_—he loves me last weekend." He rubbed the place where his trunk had crashed into his leg. "That's all."

Neville raised his eyebrows. "That's _all_?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Anyway, I have to go. I'll see you at lunch."

"Bye."

Harry hurried down to Severus' quarters—his quarters now, too? maybe?—wondering exactly what it was that made him tell Neville that. Nothing good could come of it. He thought it probably came down to either convincing Neville he wasn't the one doing stupid things, it was Severus, or that he was trying to cement the words in reality; if someone else knew about it then it had to have happened, right?

The door between the lab and the living room was closed. It usually was; the lab tended to get very warm and smell strangely. But right now, standing in front of the door leading to—yes, _his_—quarters, nothing had seemed quite as intimidating as opening this particular door. The last time he had been this nervous about a door was when he first told Severus about his condition three and a half years ago and he'd gone to his office during lunch. So much had changed since then.

He should just go in. Really, what else would he do? Knock? He hadn't knocked in ages, and now was not the time to start. He lived here. He could just go in. That was all. Just go in. Open the door and go in.

"Harry, what are you doing?"

Harry jerked around. Severus was standing in the door to his lab looking mildly amused. "Sorry, I was just—ah—going in."

"Have you forgotten how to use doorknobs?" Severus asked. "You have been 'going in' for quite some time now, and yet the door remains closed."

Harry flushed. "I was lost in thought," he said, finally going inside.

"Evidently so," Severus replied. "As you have already invaded my closet, I have extended it further. There is a second dresser, and the bookcases will expand as necessary. Is there anything else you require?"

"No, I don't think so," Harry said nervously. He sat his trunk down and tapped the lid twice, using a spell he had picked up at Grimmauld Place the summer before fifth year when people were constantly coming and going. The trunk opened and his things flew across the rooms, putting themselves away where they saw fit. It generally resulted in a few misplaced items but it was far easier than actually unpacking. In retrospect he probably should have warned Severus, who let out a surprised yelp and stepped to the side to avoid being hit in the head with the small portrait of Dumbledore that whizzed over to the mantel, which was suddenly long enough to hold the additional item. Harry's foot was trod on in the process and he nearly fell over trying to retrieve himself, having to grab Severus' shoulder to avoid crashing down. The few potions books he hadn't kept in the lab zoomed behind him, and once again Severus had to steady him.

"Already a hazard, and you haven't yet been here for two minutes," Severus said as a flurry of Harry's socks passed by.

"Sorry," Harry said again, tapping the side of his leg nervously. When the trunk finished unpacking itself it shrunk and scooted into the bedroom and under the bed. "I've got, um, grading."

Severus gestured to the room. "You live here. You may do as you wish."

Harry collected his grading things and sat on the couch, wondering when it was going to sink in that he actually lived with Severus, because right now it didn't feel any different from last week. Only it was, because he _lived_ here. He wasn't visiting, he wasn't staying for a few days while things blew over, he actually _lived_ _here_. The word strange didn't begin to cover it.

"I'm going to make tea. Would you like any?"

"Sure," Harry replied distractedly. He paused. "You used a contraction."

Severus let out an irritated huff. "I am sorry if my speech patterns fail to meet your standards. It is the weekend and I am home. Occasionally I contract. Sometimes I wear slippers instead of shoes. I have even been known to slouch. Are such things permissible?"

"Yeah, sorry," Harry said, marking the moment. That, right there, would be when it sunk in. He was sure Severus must have done some of those things over the course of their time together, but now it was suddenly different. Practically speaking, if he wanted a chance to go out as a Basilisk tonight he needed to finish his grading, not contemplate Severus' living habits, so he turned back to his essays.

Being brought a cup of tea officially confirmed the situation, and the warmth spreading through him had very little to do with the heat of his beverage.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N:** Hey guys! Sorry this is up late; my alarm woke me up and then I promptly fell back asleep and then I was running late and had to run out the door and Merlin now it's almost ten. Well, better late than never, _non_? No warnings yet, but soon, I promise ;)

Enjoy!

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**58**

Minerva granted Harry permission to change in the Forbidden Forest on the stipulation that Severus join him. She said the arrangement wasn't permanent but it would placate the Board, and for the moment they were in need of placating. Harry was mostly fine with it; he could have used time to process his move, maybe to prepare himself for wherever their relationship went, but he would have plenty of time for that later.

The real frustration was that Severus wasn't as fast as he was. Harry would end up having to double back like an overexcited puppy, which wasn't nearly as much fun as just _going_. Eventually Severus yelled at him to slow down or go back inside, and after that the pace was considerably more leisurely, more of a stroll than the racing Harry usually did. At first he found it unsatisfying and confining but then it occurred to him that he was effectively on a moonlight walk through the forest with Severus, and that was considerably more exciting than anything he could have done on his own.

They entered into a snowy clearing and Harry swished a section of ground clear. "I'm giving you time to rest," he said, curling up and relaxing. "A short break, and then I want to go faster."

"It is cold and late," Severus replied. "If you wish to rest fine, but afterwards we are going back."

Harry glared at him. "No. It's my first night out in ages, I want to stay out."

"I want to be well rested," Severus retorted. "I am sure you will not be tethered to my side for very long and then you can stay out however late you'd like, but tonight we are going back now."

"Do you even know what time it is?" Harry asked.

"Do you?" Severus countered. "We left the castle a little before ten and we have been out for several hours. I will need to shower before going to bed—as will you, I won't have you tracking whatever is lying around in the Forbidden Forest into my bed—and—"

"Our bed," Harry interrupted, taking advantage of the fact that reptiles can't blush. "It's our bed, not yours."

It was easy enough to tell Severus was caught off guard even when he had the expressive range of a large python. "Fine, whatever. My point is that it is late, I am cold and tired, and it is time to go back."

Harry's anger had been overtaken by the revelation that it really was _their_ bed, and he decided that the prospect of snuggling with a freshly showered Severus outweighed a pointless argument. "All right," he said, starting back towards the castle. "But if you insist on going so slowly we won't get back for another hour or so. We're pretty far out."

Severus hissed angrily. "Fine."

Harry took off, listening to make sure Severus was keeping up with him. The man might be nearly silent in human form, but Harry had Basilisk reflexes as well as hearing, and he could quite literally slither circles around him. It felt so _good_ to stretch out and race like this, and knowing that he was racing towards the bed he shared with Severus only heightened the sensation.

"Hurry up!" he called back, pushing himself a little harder. "You're so slow!"

"Watch your mouth," Severus snapped, and Harry thought the sound of an out of breath snake was rather hilarious.

"Think of your shower," Harry replied. "That'll get you to speed up."

"Potter, I swear—"

"Don't call me that," Harry interrupted. "Use my first name."

"Or what?" Severus asked snidely, the sound of leaves crunching and sticks snapping growing louder as he tried to keep up.

"Or I'll call you Sev," Harry shot back. "Didn't you tell me never to do that?"

Severus apparently needed to use all of his lung capacity to focus on breathing and chose not to reply.

They arrived at the edge of the Forest no more than twenty minutes later and Harry changed, grinning wildly as Severus caught up and joined him. There was very little that felt as madly wonderful as streaking through the Forest as fast as he could. The cold from being a snake in the snow was replaced with sudden heat from being warm blooded, and he was flushed. Even as a human his eyes had improved, and the moon was just on the other side of full, providing more than enough light. He ran his fingers through his hair, dislodging any forest debris that had stuck to him, practically bouncing in place.

Severus was brushing himself off and muttering angrily, and didn't notice that Harry's attention had turned completely to him. He was flushed as well, probably more from exertion than temperature, his hair slightly damp from the snow—Harry's was too, but he was no longer paying any attention to himself—and, cliché aside, the moonlight was reflecting off his eyes in a way that Harry had never seen before. He had a leaf sticking out of his hair, but somehow that only made him more attractive. Harry was aware that leaves weren't sexually appealing, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"We need to celebrate," Harry said suddenly, speaking too quickly and in a weird range that sounded too high and too low at the same time. Severus glanced up at him, and the burst of electricity was nearly enough to physically knock Harry back. It definitely made him forget what he was going to say next because Severus had finally, probably accidentally, let his guard down, and Harry could easily read his expression.

His own, mirrored back at him.

Harry forced his voice to come back. "Celebrate," he repeated. "Being out as snakes. The end of the week. Moving in together. Moonlight." Whoops. "There's a leaf in your hair."

"We are celebrating a leaf in my hair?" Severus asked, reaching up and coming nowhere close to it.

"Yes," Harry said, closing the distance between them and taking it out. "And now we can celebrate that you don't have a leaf in your hair."

Severus' eyes were on fire. "What, exactly, do you propose as celebration?"

Harry licked his lips. "Words are stupid and unnecessary, right?" he said, and, without waiting for a response, put a hand on the back of Severus' neck and pulled him down into a kiss. A _real_ kiss, filled with passion and electricity and moonlight. Severus took a moment to respond but it was well worth the wait. He let out a quiet growl and anchored Harry to him, burying one hand in his hair and grabbing his hip with the other. Harry gasped, and Severus slipped his tongue into his mouth, meeting Harry's and then moving on to explore his mouth. Harry's world narrowed to this one moment with this one man, open only to the feelings he was given from Severus. Tongues danced, every crevice of his mouth was explored, the hand in his hair pulled just enough to be noticeable but nowhere near painful, their bodies were pressed together, almost painfully hot compared to the Forest. Harry's other hand went up to cup Severus' face, finally memorizing physically instead of visually.

A nearby owl hooted loudly, breaking the spell. Severus jerked away, Harry immediately feeling the loss. He could see Severus rebuilding all of his walls, his expression guarded, eyes once again impenetrable. Panic raced through him; Severus was going to pretend this never happened, he was going to be angry and irritable and ornery, he would probably toss Harry out except that involved admitting something had happened, and Harry had no idea how to stop any of it from happening.

"Severus—"

"No," Severus interrupted sharply, turning and sweeping towards the castle. "I told you, it is late and I am tired. Keep up."

Harry nearly tripped over himself as he tried to match his pace. "I know, but—"

"You said it yourself," Severus snapped. "There is nothing to say."

"No, I said—"

"Shut up!" Severus yelled. "Just stop talking!"

Harry did, still hurrying to keep up. He thought he might cry, or possibly explode from joy. The fact that it had happened was enough, it had to be enough. Their relationship moved so slowly, and he had _moved in_ today. It was unreasonable to hope for anything else, yet something else had happened, and a really big something else at that. He needed to be calm and patient and wait and remind himself that things _did_ move forward. He couldn't get his hopes up, that was all. He couldn't push.

All very wise, but he still felt like something crucial to his existence had been forcibly torn from his body.

Merlin, that was pathetic.

Harry hadn't felt so unwelcome in Severus' rooms, either at Hogwarts or Spinner's End, in a long time, and that it was his first night of officially living there only seemed apropos. It also seemed miserable and like he'd really rather be back with Neville right about now.

"You should shower first," Severus said.

"I thought—"

"You are filthy and I do not trust you not to impart your mess to everything within my walls," Severus replied coolly. "Be quick about it, I want to get to bed."

"Yeah, sure," Harry said, covering his upset with a yawn. "I'll be right out."

His shower did nothing to improve his mood. He washed as quickly as possible, threw on his pajamas, and came back out. Severus was in the bathroom before he could make an attempt at conversation, so he just went straight to bed. It didn't feel particularly like his bed, or his room, or his flat. The addition of the dresser did nothing to change his mind.

It was a joke to think he could fall asleep before Severus came to bed, and thankfully he didn't take long. The time between the water shutting off and Severus walking into the bedroom seemed eternal, and even longer until he joined Harry in bed, all without saying anything. Harry was lying on his back, and Severus made no move to cuddle. Harry snuck his hand over, and Severus immediately pulled away.

Anger flashed through him, burning away sadness, self-pity, and even lust.

Harry sat up, yanking himself away from Severus while turning to face him. "Do you remember last weekend?" he asked angrily. "When you opened up to me and then yelled at me for not saying anything? What I just did was a hell of a lot more than speaking, and for someone who places such a high emphasis on actions, I'd think you'd respect that. So, in your own bloody words, why the _hell _are you ignoring me? I get that it was big, I know I pushed, but I know you wanted it, too. I know you hate talking, but I also know you know that sometimes you have to, so talk."

"It's a school night," Severus replied, still facing away. "We will talk later."

"No!" Harry yelled. He took a deep breath. "No. We're going to talk now."

"No, we are not," Severus said sharply. "Lie back down and go to sleep. Or, if you would prefer, you may spend the night on the couch." Harry lost what little patience he had and swatted Severus' shoulder. At least now he had his attention; Severus spun around, furious. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Trying to get you to listen to me!" Harry exclaimed. "You've finally got your way, I want to talk about the kissing. You've been trying to say something for, what, seven months now? So fine. Go ahead. Say something."

Severus was seething, seemingly too angry to form words. Harry tightened his jaw and reminded himself that Severus had said he could move in, that Severus had kissed him back, that Severus had asked him to come to Spinner's End for the holidays and had invited him into his bed and had, in fact, kissed him _in_ bed. He was angry now, and Harry wasn't exactly sure why other than maybe the sort of upset stomach that comes with trying to suppress too many emotions for too long, but Severus didn't hate him. Severus had even sort of tried to start saying that he loved him last weekend. Eventually he'd get over himself and things would be okay. Better than okay, even. He shouldn't have pushed, that was all. He shouldn't have kissed Severus—even in the moonlight—and he shouldn't have insisted on a conversation that apparently wasn't going to happen.

Harry swallowed, refusing to admit he was anywhere close to tears. The feel of Severus' lips, that's what was important, and how he'd tasted. Harry could wait. Well, he couldn't really, but he had no choice. So he would.

"Answer me." Or he wouldn't, one or the other.

"You failed to ask a question," Severus said, eyes black lightening.

Harry tapped his finger violently against his pillow. "I don't have a question. Answer me anyway."

Severus didn't, not right away, but Harry thought he was thinking and not ignoring him. His hand darted out, closing around Harry's, and Harry shivered uncontrollably. "You have to get that infernal habit under control," Severus said almost absentmindedly. "I can't think when all I can hear is your tapping."

"Maybe, but you're still holding my hand," Harry countered. "You've been holding my hand all week."

"I am aware," Severus replied irritably. "Shut up." Harry did, the test on his resolve ending much sooner than he expected. "Lie down," Severus said. "Come here and lie down."

Harry hesitated, ignoring the part of his brain that was threatening to kill him if he didn't get back into Severus' arms as quickly as possible. "You have to say something," he replied. "I know you don't want to, but I need something to go on."

Severus closed his eyes briefly, seeming to gather himself. When he reopened them the lightening was gone, replaced with equal parts annoyance and affection. "I can give you only what I have," he said. "You have pushed and pulled more out of me than I would have imagined possible, but I cannot give you words. If you cannot accept that, you need to stop this now."

Harry had no idea how that could be romantic, but the way the words washed over him promised that nothing else ever said to him, past, present or future, could compare. "Okay," he said quietly. "Later, I—" He stopped himself. Now wasn't the time. Later might not be either, but definitely not now. "Okay, no words."

Severus ran his hand through Harry's hair under the guise of pushing his fringe out of his eyes, settling on the back of his neck. "Now would you please lie down so we can sleep?"

Harry did, curling himself around Severus, who accepted him with open arms and open hands. Harry twisted his neck uncomfortably and Severus immediately responded, chastely brushing their lips together. "Sleep."

Once again Harry didn't think sleep would be possible, and once again he was out before he could even remember why.

**59**

Harry kept himself as busy as possible that Monday. He sat in on both of Horace's classes, graded, made lesson plans, adjusted his Felix Felicis, thought a lot about inventing but failed to come up with any ideas, asked Poppy what she needed and brewed several vats of Pepperup, spent an hour or so in the greenhouses with Neville who had sworn not to mention Severus, and generally doing anything he could think of to keep his mind occupied. In fact, he was so busy being busy he forgot he had lessons with Severus until he was walking out of the Great Hall after dinner and Severus joined him.

"Tonight you will make Draught of Living Death," Severus said. "As you no longer have my book to correct the mistakes in the textbook, I expect you to find them yourself and annotate any changes you make."

"Okay," Harry replied, trying to remember Severus' changes. Something needed to be squished instead of cut, or maybe the other way around? It released the juice better, he knew that.

"When you take the Potion Masters exam, there will be a section on identifying incorrect instructions, both for known potions and for theoretical ones," Severus said. "You must always examine each ingredient and each instruction and ask yourself whether or not it makes sense. Depending on the age and obscurity of the recipe you are following, the likelihood of a written error or one in thought can be very high."

"Right, okay," Harry replied. There was something oddly comforting about being lectured; at least he knew where he stood in a lecture. Words were used in lectures. Lectures were clear. "Should I make a Wiggenweld Potion too?"

"It is always wise to have the antidote on hand for anything you brew," Severus said. "If a bottle were to be mislabeled or a student to break in and think themselves clever, there is always potential for catastrophe. However I will not assign it; the choice is yours."

How very Severus-like. Practical, yes, but it didn't have to be said so pessimistically. "I'll just do it, then," Harry replied. "I've caught up with the rest of my work, I should have time. It's only, what, six-thirty?"

"Something like that," Severus said. He paused for a moment. "I cannot stay up as late tonight as I did last night."

Harry glanced at him. "I can make them on my own. That's the whole point, to brew on my own, right? Or are you saying it would wake you up if I came to bed after you?"

"Merely informing you I may not be able to check your work," Severus replied. "Nor able to fix any mistakes."

"I don't expect you to," Harry said. They arrived in the lab, and Harry flipped his book open to Living Death and started gathering ingredients. It was the sophophorus that needed to be crushed, that was obvious. Chopping would get you nowhere, he was confident about that. On the other hand, he was certain there was at least one other inaccuracy in the textbook that he didn't remember. He mixed the water and salt together, set the beaker aside and carefully read through the text.

Suddenly there was a hand on his lower back and he jerked, nearly knocking a pile of valerian roots to the floor. He turned around, wide eyed, to see Severus giving him a disdainfully amused look.

"Work on your startle reflex," Severus said. "As well as your listening skills. I would not have thought it possible to sneak up on you."

"I was—er, reading," Harry stammered. Severus' hand was still on his back and Harry was acutely aware of the light pressure and warmth through his shirt, his teaching robes abandoned before he went to the greenhouses. One of the few benefits of being partially cold blooded; other people's heat, people like Severus, was always noticeable and was a special form of comforting a pure mammal would never understand. "Sorry, what's up?"

"Only informing you I will be in the living room if you need me," Severus replied, still looking amused, the disdain slipping away.

Was he—communicating? With words? Harry didn't understand. He'd just said the opposite, that he wouldn't be available, at least later on. So what was this? Maybe it was that it was a lesson and he was teaching, but he hadn't directly supervised Harry's weekday lessons in quite some time. Was it a part of living together, letting Harry know where he'd be? Nothing about that sounded right; aside from the fact they'd never done that before, this was Severus. He wasn't accountable to anyone.

Harry was at a loss for words. He thought he should probably say something anyway.

"Okay."

Severus gave him a look, the one that meant he was daft, and left, closing the door behind himself. Harry turned back to his station. Trying to figure out what was wrong in the instructions for Living Death, that's what he was doing. Nothing about Severus. He summoned a quill and started annotating, which was sufficiently distracting that he forgot about the water and salt. He sighed, rinsed the beaker out and started over, hoping it was one small mistake and not too inauspicious.

It wasn't. Everything went wrong. The only thing that didn't go wrong, and Harry was actually rather proud of this, is that he successfully fixed each mistake. The potion took twice as long as it should have, used way more ingredients than called for, and generally looked like someone had intentionally left at least four or five different kinds of juices go moldy before mixing them together, but when Harry dropped a spare beetle eye into the concoction, it fizzled away just like his leaf had in sixth year. He bottled it, labeled the bottle, including a note that said _No antidote on hand, do not drink!_ in very large letters, and put it away. He'd make the Wiggenweld tomorrow; right now all he wanted to do was collapse on the couch and warm his feet by the fire. He'd been standing far too long.

Harry walked into the living room just as Severus came out of the bathroom clad in his black silk pajamas. Harry swallowed. He'd need to have a word with him about those. Then again, how exactly would he phrase the question? Please don't wear those because it turns me on too much? Not likely.

"I was just turning in for the night," Severus said. "Did you complete your potions?"

"The Living—" Harry's voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "The Draught of Living Death. It took longer than it should've, but I taught myself to fix every possible mistake that could ever go wrong with it, so that's good. I'm going to brew the antidote tomorrow."

Severus nodded. "Are you coming to bed?"

Harry gazed longingly at the fireplace. He was still in his shoes so he could sit much closer than he should, practically with his feet on the burning logs. It would be so warm and relaxing. So would getting a good night's sleep, though. And being with Severus.

"Yeah, all right," Harry said, giving the fire one last look before going for his overnight bag to get his pajamas. He frowned. It wasn't by the bathroom door where it should have been. "Severus, did you move my bag?"

"What bag?" he called, already in the bedroom.

"My overnight, with—_oh_. Merlin, never mind!" Feeling like an idiot, Harry went into the bedroom and fetched his pajamas from his dresser. "Clearly it's time for bed."

Severus didn't comment, which was significantly kinder than anything he could have said. Harry changed in the bathroom, again wondering if he was going to spend the rest of his life doing so and again deciding he didn't need to bring up the question at this particular moment. A new question occurred to him as he was brushing his teeth in front of the mirror and looking particularly scruffy: he slept in an old tee shirt and flannel bottoms. What if he wanted revenge? What if he bought himself a set of silk pajamas? The odds of Severus noticing were approximately zero. The only time he'd looked at Harry with anything even slightly resembling lust was last night, and that had nothing to do with his clothes. Maybe that meant something, though. Maybe he should put in more of an effort. It was just that pajamas were for being comfortable and sleeping, not showing off. He'd feel ridiculous in silk. Besides, it would be too silky and smooth and rub against places that shouldn't rubbed against in bed.

Rather, they should be, but only if Severus was involved, and not by accident.

He finished brushing his teeth but didn't leave yet, continuing to appraise himself in the mirror. His hair was a wreck, his shirt was baggy and peppered with small holes, and his flannels were frayed around the cuffs and had a singed hole from the fireplace. No wonder Severus didn't look at him; there wasn't anything to see. There wasn't an immediate solution either; he didn't have anything else to sleep in, and there wasn't anything he could do about his hair, there never was. Last night aside, he didn't know if Severus even thought about him that way at all, so all of this was an exercise in futility. But last night had been pretty persuasive…

Harry shook himself and walked to the bedroom. He was being ridiculous. Just because Severus was mouthwateringly delicious didn't mean that he had to change his wardrobe to please him. He didn't even know what he _would _find attractive. He slept in silk; did that mean he liked to see silk on others?

Harry stopped himself just outside and to the side of the bedroom door where Severus couldn't see him and spent a moment or two willing his semi down. This was not the time.

His work was undone as soon as he rounded the corner. Severus was propped up on a pile of pillows, hands laced behind his head, the low glow of the fireplace glinting off the silk. Harry had no idea why he wasn't lying down but _Merlin_ he looked good. He had been doing such a good job of not noticing such things, or more accurately pushing them to the back of his mind, but the past week had taken its toll. Sharing a bed, brief kisses followed by a not so brief kiss, all the silk. It wasn't fair.

Harry quickly got into bed and pulled the covers over himself before Severus saw anything. Then Harry remembered how he usually slept involved being flush against him, and he had to take a deep breath and calm himself again.

"Are you going to lie down?" Harry asked nervously. "You don't seem comfy."

Severus opened his eyes meeting Harry's, and calming himself was _not_ easy. "Eager for company?"

That was one way of putting it. "Um, no, not if you don't want it," Harry stammered. "I just thought—usually, I mean, or lately—never mind."

"I was lost in thought," Severus replied. "I apologize for the great sin of putting my mental capacities to use rather than being used as an oversized pillow. How would you have me?"

Harry briefly closed his eyes. "Think away," he said, voice remarkably even. "I was just making sure you were comfortable before I settled down."

"It is far too late to be thinking," Severus replied. "Contemplation is notoriously difficult to corral, but you are right; lying down would certainly improve the situation."

Harry watched with amusement and nothing else as Severus rearranged his pillows and slid beneath the blankets. "Not talking like a thesaurus would probably help, too," he said with a smile.

Severus rolled his eyes. "Simpleton."

"Stuck up prick," Harry countered. He tried to snuggle against Severus but as soon as he touched the silk he realized he would have to be very, very careful. He still used him as a pillow, Severus was right about that, but he angled his body out sideways. There was no denying it was obvious and awkward, but Harry was quite sure it was less uncomfortable than Severus feeling his obnoxiously stubborn erection.

Severus let out a huff of annoyance. "What are you doing?"

"Er," Harry said. "Um. Lying down?"

"In a position that forces me to decide between raising my arm all night like I wish to be called upon or dislocating my shoulder?" Severus asked.

Harry couldn't help a snort of laughter. "That wasn't my intention, no."

"Then kindly rearrange yourself."

Less funny. Harry scooted closer, still being careful to keep his groin away from Severus. "Better?"

"Not particularly," Severus replied dryly. "Why has this suddenly become so difficult?"

Harry tapped his finger on Severus' chest. "I'm just stiff from—" His voice cracked again as he realized what word he had used. "Brewing for hours. My neck and my back, they're crinkly." Which was true.

"This requires you to sleep sideways, taking up the entire bed, all of the blankets, and bending my arm at an unnatural angle?" Severus asked.

"Yes?" Harry tried.

"For Merlin's sake," Severus muttered, pushing Harry up and sitting himself. "How is it you have come this far and not found this to be a problem before?" he asked, hands coming to rest on Harry's shoulders. "You must learn to live with this. There are ointments, but—"

Harry interrupted him with a low groan as he started to knead his shoulders. The sound was completely involuntary and entirely embarrassing, but he didn't think he'd ever gotten a shoulder rub before, let alone one from Severus. He was surprisingly skilled, strong fingers easily finding knots and working them out. Harry closed his eyes and leaned into his touch, completely surrendering to him. Severus could have asked him anything and he would have answered without a second thought. Massage: a poor man's Veritaserum. At least when it was performed by one Severus Snape. His hand moved to his neck, loosening the tense muscles with an ease Harry still could barely believe. How on earth was he so good at this?

Part of it was undoubtedly the little jolts of electricity that shot through Harry with each movement of his fingers. Of _Severus'_ fingers. It was almost backwards; the knots were disappearing but the longer it went on the more he had to actively work to keep his muscles from tightening. The fact that it was so good was providing the opposite result, or it would have if Severus weren't so stupidly _good_. Yes, of course having Severus touch him like this would make him tense, he couldn't help it, but Severus seemed capable of relaxing the stiffness he caused. Not _all_ of the stiffness, of course, he just made that worse, but what was in his back and shoulders.

Then Severus did something to his spine, holding his shoulder in place as he pressed down causing a series of loud pops, and suddenly Harry was reduced to a melted puddle. He let out a breathy sigh, again not a noise he meant to make, and slumped backwards. It was a completely unplanned action, and the fact that he ended up leaning against Severus with his arms wrapped around him was only an added bonus.

"Saturday morning you will focus your energy on creating a muscle relaxant," Severus said. The words barely penetrated. The way Harry was laying meant that Severus' mouth was next to his ear, and the combination of his low, soft, velvet voice and his breath tickling his ear was too distracting.

"Okay," Harry sighed. One word was difficult enough; there was no way he could come up with a complete sentence.

"Get up, would you? You are incapable of listening when I tell you I am tired and want to sleep, which I cannot do while sitting up supporting you," Severus said with only a hint of bitterness.

Harry sort of slithered back under the blankets, too relaxed to move intentionally. Severus wrapped himself around Harry, holding his hand the way he always did, pulling him against himself. Spooning, Harry thought vaguely. Would anyone believe Severus Snape spooned? Or held hands? Harry decided he didn't care as long as it didn't stop.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N:** This is a long one, but somehow I don't think you'll mind.

**Warning:** sexual situations (not full on but some) between two of age consenting men.

Without further ado, enjoy.

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**60**

Ron and Hermione came up the last weekend in February. Harry blew off his private lesson Friday night, and they met at the Three Broomsticks for dinner. Neville had been invited but one of the Tentacula plants had a fungus and he was busy working to make sure it didn't spread. Besides, as much as Harry loved Neville, it was good to be just the three of them again. Despite frequent owls and several visits over the holidays, it felt like years since they had been together.

It took all of dinner just to catch up on the mundane—how Ron liked being an Auror (busy but good), what Hermione was working on in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures (house elf rights, of course), how the wedding planning was going (Mrs. Weasley had taken complete control, they had no idea), how Harry's internship was going (also busy but good), how he was dealing with being outed as a Basilisk (it had mostly blown over), and how he was getting on with Severus (fine, and if he failed to mention anything beyond their working relationship that was neither here nor there).

Partway through the first round everything changed.

"So Harry, you'll be my best man, right?" Ron asked.

Harry started at the sudden change in conversation. They had been talking about Quidditch, not weddings. At least the answer was obvious and it didn't take any time or thought. "Yeah, of course."

"Brilliant," Ron said with a grin. "Write to Mum and tell her? She's been obsessing over it since Christmas but she insisted I couldn't ask via owl and had to do it in person, even after I reminded her that I wasn't bloody _proposing_ to you or marrying _you_."

Harry laughed. "Sure."

Hermione hesitated for a moment. "Ginny's going to be maid of honor."

"Yeah?" Harry said. "You're giving me a look. Why?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance.

"Well, Mum thinks…" Ron trailed off.

"No," Harry said immediately. "No, not going to happen. We broke up ages ago. It's been, what, three years? I love Ginny but not that way."

"I know," Ron said quickly. "I'm just giving you a heads up that Mum's trying to set you two up."

Harry groaned. "Tell her I'm not interested."

"There are going to be other girls," Hermione said carefully. "Young women, really. One of Fleur's cousins is coming, and—"

"I'm fine," Harry interrupted. "I know you mean well, but really, I'm good."

"Are you sure?" Ron asked dubiously. "You haven't dated anyone since Ginny, and Hogwarts isn't exactly bustling with available women. You and Neville are the only ones our age, right?" His jaw dropped, and before Harry could answer he rushed on. "You and Neville aren't—you're not, are you?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed. "Merlin, no. Not Neville."

"Not Neville?" Hermione echoed. "That sounds like there's someone, then, if it's not Neville."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Not—no. Not really. No. No, there isn't."

"That was the least convincing no I've ever heard," Hermione said. "What's going on? Why didn't you tell us?"

Harry took a rather large sip of his drink. "There's nothing—it's not, I mean. I'm not seeing anyone. I mean, I'm seeing someone, but I'm not _seeing_ someone."

Ron stared at him. "Have you gone daft?"

Harry glared at him. "No."

"I imagine that you're seeing a lot of people, given that you've got eyes," Ron said. "You're seeing me, aren't you? Haven't gone blind as well?"

"You know what I mean," Harry replied angrily.

"No, I really don't," Hermione said. "Are you dating someone casually?"

"N—no," Harry stammered. "No. It's, um. There's nothing—it's just. Nothing's—I mean."

"Out with it," Ron demanded. "I can't believe you haven't told us already. Does Neville know? Have you been keeping it a secret from everyone, or just us?"

Harry winced. "No, he doesn't. Well, I mean a little, but not really. And no, no one else knows. There's nothing to know." He cleared his throat. "Sort of."

"I'd imagine he has to know since you're living together," Hermione said. "I'd think it obvious if you were bringing someone around, or staying out all night."

Harry tapped his finger on the table. "That's not, er, how he—he sort of figured it out, kind of, over break. But there's really—"

"It's been happening since before break?" Ron interrupted, clearly hurt. "Harry, we're your best friends! What's going on?"

Harry glanced around, making sure nobody was within hearing distance. "I don't want it spread around, okay? Nothing's official, nothing's happened, nothing's been said, nothing's anything. There's been, um, contact? Physically? Not sexually. Mostly, I guess, there was a kiss, but just one. We're just sort of—look, even I don't know. If there was something to say I would've said it."

"You didn't think a kiss was worth mentioning?" Ron asked. "Must've been a really shitty kiss."

"No, it was brilliant," Harry said before he could stop himself. "But, um. Just the once. And it was weeks ago, nothing's happened since. Well—" That time he did cut himself off.

"Well what?" Hermione asked softly.

Harry's tapping increased. "Okay, well, sometimes we kiss, but not _kiss_. Like friendly kisses. That's still a thing, yeah? Friendly kisses? Like the French." That was utter nonsense and he was fully aware of the fact. "And I guess, y'know—what's a better word for cuddling?"

"That would be it," Hermione said. "There's not really a way around it."

"And what's this about friendly kisses?" Ron asked. "You don't kiss us and we're your friends. Are you seeing someone French, is that it?"

"No," Harry said. "It's just—like New Year's kisses, that's what. Celebratory. That was the first time, and so were the others, all celebratory. Then it was more of a good night kiss, and—"

"_Good night _kiss?" Ron interrupted. "It is Neville, then! Who else would you be kissing goodnight?"

"Not Neville!" Harry insisted. "I don't kiss Neville goodnight, Merlin! I don't even see him most nights."

"It's not a student, is it?" Hermione asked quietly. "Is that why you won't say who it is, because you'd get fired?"

"No," Harry said firmly. "No, definitely not."

"Wait," Ron said suddenly. "What do you mean, you don't see Neville at night? You live together, how could you not see him?"

_Fuck_. Had he said that? He certainly hadn't meant to. "We don't," Harry said very quietly. "Live together. Anymore."

Ron and Hermione stared at him.

"Did you get into a fight?" Ron asked. "Was the bit about the fungus a lie? Are you not speaking?"

"No, no, we're fine," Harry said hurriedly. "Everything's fine. I just, um. Moved out."

"Oh my god," Hermione breathed. "Oh, no, Harry, don't. No. It can't possibly end well. You're going to get hurt and you'll lose your apprenticeship and—"

"_Snape_?" Ron yelled.

"Shut up!" Harry hissed. "It's not—just shut up. It's not what you think."

"You _kissed Snape_?" Ron exclaimed. "You've got to be fucking kidding me!"

"Stop yelling," Harry said angrily. "There's nothing to end, nothing to get hurt, and I'm not losing anything. Apprenticeships are magically binding, I couldn't even if I wanted to. But really, it's nothing." Roughly speaking, that's what he'd been telling himself for the past month. Of course it was all a lie, but it wasn't as far from the truth as he would've liked. There was more than nothing, yes, but not much more. The cuddling, like he'd said, and the brief kisses that only happened some nights. There had been no repeat of the kiss by the Forest and neither of them had tried to talk about any of it. "We're close, that's all. He's been—over the years, I mean, with the Basilisk thing—we're friends."

"More than friends," Hermione corrected. "If there's kissing—and did you really say cuddling? Severus Snape cuddling?"

Harry flushed. "Uh, yeah."

"And you live together?" Hermione asked.

Harry glanced at the ceiling. "Yeah. But really, we've been since eighth year because of me being a Basilisk and all. It was for safety and convenience, and I guess we sort of got used to it."

"Stop," Ron said. "Wait. He had a spare room in his quarters? That doesn't sound like him. Not that any of this does, but I can't imagine the idea of having guests has ever so much as crossed his mind."

Harry took another large sip of his drink. "We share a room," he replied very quickly.

"A bed?" Hermione asked. "Do you share that, too?"

Harry closed his eyes. He loved his friends dearly, but he couldn't look at them, not right now. "Yes. We don't do anything, but yes."

"Merlin," Ron breathed, sounding amazed. "If you've gotten him to do that much, I think you're probably fine. Not that it's going to be easy or pleasant—nothing about him could ever be pleasant—sorry, stop giving me that face, you know what I mean—but if he's opened up to you that much, I can't imagine him pulling away."

"Ron's not wrong," Hermione said dubiously. "Generally speaking, when someone who's that buttoned up and private finally lets someone else in, they're there to stay. But Harry, really, think about it. Make sure this is what you want. We support you, of course, and we'll stand by whatever you do, but please be careful."

"Can you start at the beginning?" Ron asked. "Over break, I guess, on New Year's?"

"The beginning is probably, um, before that," Harry said. "Maybe? I don't know. Technically, our first kiss was, er, the New Year's before last, but—"

"What?" Ron yelled.

"Shut up, it wasn't anything," Harry said irritably. "If you want to understand, you have to know what it was like when he was the only one I could talk to, the only one taking care of me, working with me to help find a cure, all of that."

"Okay," Hermione replied. "Start wherever you want."

So Harry started from the beginning. They moved up to the room Ron and Hermione were staying in when the bar closed, and it was still quite some time after that before he finished. He looked at his friends expectantly.

"Well?"

"That sounds like an entirely different Snape," Ron said eventually. "Are you sure there's no Polyjuice involved?"

Harry glared at him. "Yes. Did you miss the part where he yells at me and berates me and treats me like shit most of the time?"

"I'm pretty sure holding hands negates that," Hermione said, sounding rather awed. When Harry had first said that, both of his friends had interrupted him asking if he was absolutely _sure_ that's what had happened, as if it was possible to misunderstand holding hands.

"It doesn't," Harry said firmly. "It helps, and it's great. But he still yells. A lot."

Ron let out a huge yawn, and Hermione glanced at the clock. "Harry, I'm sorry but it's really late. We'll sleep on it and meet at Hogwarts for breakfast tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah, all right," Harry said, standing and stretching. "You guys don't hate me though, right?"

"Of course not," Ron replied, surprised.

"We never will, I told you," Hermione added. "We love you. That doesn't change what time it is."

Harry smiled. "Right. See you tomorrow."

**61**

The walk back to Hogwarts was rather miserable. It was bitterly cold, and the sharp wind cut through his winter cloak like he was wearing nothing. It wasn't snowing, but the wind picked up the top layer of what was already on the ground and whipped small, frozen chips of iced-over snow at him. His warm blooded self was struggling valiantly to generate body heat, but the cold bloodedness was winning.

By the time he reached his rooms—and they did finally feel like his rooms, it had taken a while but he did feel at home—he was shaking uncontrollably and couldn't stop his teeth from chattering. Instead of going to bed, which sounded fantastic, he flicked his wand at the fireplace, flaring the burning embers into a roaring fire. He grabbed the throw from the couch and, still in his winter cloak and shoes, settled himself as close to the flames as he could without catching on fire. He brought his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around his legs, and rested his head on his knees. Maybe, if he was really lucky, he'd be able to fall asleep sitting up like this.

"Are you all right?"

Harry jerked around. Under normal circumstances he would have heard the moment Severus got out of bed, but his senses dulled when he was cold—fucking snake blood—and he had no idea Severus was in the doorway to the bedroom. In his black silk pajamas, of course.

"Yeah, fine, I'm cold," Harry said, teeth only chattering slightly. "Go back to bed, I didn't mean to wake you."

"Then perhaps you will close the door before lighting up the room like high noon," Severus replied tersely, but he didn't go back to bed.

"The door's usually closed," Harry said a little defensively.

"I left it open in the hopes you would not wake me upon your return," Severus replied, terseness slipping into irony. "Are you certain you are okay? I have never seen you so pale."

Severus noticed those things? Harry shook himself. Of course he did, they saw each other enough. It didn't take a genius to notice when his usual tan had been seared off by arctic temperatures. "I'm cold, I told you," Harry said. "It's freezing out and I'm a reptile, sort of. I don't do well in cold."

Severus walked over, sat next to him, and rested a hand on his cheek. Harry sighed, leaning into his touch, eyes slipping closed. His hand was so warm it was nearly painful, and the fire couldn't hold a candle to Severus' warmth. So to speak.

"Merlin, Harry," Severus muttered, then summoned a flask from the lab. "You should have come to me. Even more, you should not have been out so late in such weather. You have gained many strengths from your other form, but you cannot ignore the limitations. Drink this. Slowly."

Harry closed his frozen hands around the flask and sipped the liquid. It tasted like charred cinnamon and he had to fight against spitting it out or choking. It did help a little, but it clearly didn't have the effect it was supposed to. Severus took it back after a few sips, frowning as he sent it away.

"I'm fine," Harry said again. "You don't have to worry. I'll just sit here and thaw, and then I'll come to bed. Go back to sleep."

"Give me your hands," Severus said firmly. Harry didn't particularly want to, they were buried within the relative warmth of several sleeves, but he did. Severus wrapped his hands around Harry's, and again Harry sighed. It was like sticking his hands into an open flame, if that wasn't something that caused irreparable damage. There was also the slight difference that Harry was in love with these hands, and he never had nor ever would have romantic feelings towards a fire. His blood was too sluggish to make his heart race or other things take an interest, nor could he blush properly, but this might have been better than anything else they had ever done, kiss by the Forest included.

"Promise me you won't do this again," Severus demanded. "It was stupid and irresponsible. Trees and dirt insulate the Forest; the stone path back from Hogsmeade is open enough to allow the wind to pick up. If you find yourself out so late again in such weather, just spend the night at the Three Broomsticks or the Hogshead."

"Okay," Harry said. He would have agreed with anything Severus said. His hands were finally starting to warm, Severus' heat slowly sinking into him. The pain was fading too, replaced with a warmth that had nothing to do with body heat. Severus gave his hands a final squeeze before moving back to his face, cupping him with both hands and leaning their foreheads together. The sudden heat was almost like a reversed ice cream headache if ice cream headaches felt good. Harry instinctually moved forward so their cheeks were pressed together, Severus' displaced hand moving to the back of his neck.

"Why did you not at least where a scarf?" Severus asked, exasperated. "Or a hat? You lose the most heat through your head, hands, and feet, yet you leave all three exposed."

"I'm wearing shoes," Harry muttered. "I dunno, it wasn't windy when I left, and it was still light out."

"Idiot boy," Severus grumbled. "Are you any warmer?"

In fact Harry was nearly on fire. Severus was all but whispering into his ear, their faces pressed together, with Severus in his silk pajamas. There was the roaring fire, which might have something to do with it, but nowhere near as much as Severus' presence. Harry's heart was slamming around in his chest like a loose cannon, his blood was remembering how to flow properly, and he had to spend quite a bit of his mental capacities controlling his breathing.

"Has the cold frozen your brain as well?" Severus asked sarcastically.

This is what Harry had been talking about. He was still his usual caustic, derisive, difficult self. It was just that Harry didn't find him particularly difficult anymore, and it was hard to take any derision seriously when they were sitting like this.

"I can think," Harry said. He did sound kind of daft, though. Could that be chocked up to the weather? Probably not. "Wait, what did you ask?" Scratch that: completely daft.

Severus moved away, bringing both hands back to Harry's face, and looking into his eyes, presumably to make sure he hadn't actually frozen to death. "Are you warming?"

"Yeah," Harry said, tongue darting out to lick his lips. They were close. Very close. His own hands had fallen to his sides and were resting on the floor; he could probably get away with mirroring Severus' gesture, but he also might not, and he didn't want to do anything that could compromise their position.

"Is the rest of your body as cold as your extremities?" Severus asked.

Harry was busy being lost in his eyes and the feel of his hands, which had moved from flames to a warming blanket, and didn't really think through the question or answer. "Yeah, colder, my cloak's frozen and I think I got snow in my shoes."

Severus glared at him. "Why did you not say something?" he asked angrily, hands moving to the fastening on Harry's cloak and unhooking it. "Harry, Merlin, your cloak is soaking."

Harry was stuck on the fact that Severus was undressing him, even if it was just his cloak. Beneath that he had a sweater, a hooded flannel and a long sleeved shirt. He hadn't dressed _that_ stupidly, at least not in relation to the weather. Now, as Severus pushed his cloak off his shoulders, he thought he was wearing far too many layers.

"At least your sweater is dry," Severus said, running a hand down his arm, checking the fabric. Harry shivered. "Are your fingers capable of untying your shoes, or must you subject me to such an indignity?"

Harry glared at him. "I'm fine," he snapped, toeing off his sneakers and socks, which were indeed wet. He couldn't tell if it was better without the wetness or worse without some sort of covering. He tried holding his feet, but his hands weren't much warmer, and it didn't help. "Y'know, my shoes were on for a reason, so I could keep my feet closer to the fireplace," he grumbled. "I need heat more than taking off wet clothes. Reptile, remember?"

"At this moment you are a mammal and I will treat you as such," Severus said. An aggravated, amused smile crossed his face. "Just when I thought my life could not become any stranger, you force me to say such a thing. Come on, you are going to bed."

Severus stood and held out a hand, which Harry took. He could have stood on his own—he was cold, not infirm—but he wasn't going to turn down an opportunity to hold hands. Besides, his hand was so much warmer than Harry's; it was like holding a small, controlled flame. To his intense surprise, Severus didn't let go until they reached the bed and Harry sat down, legs hanging off the edge. Severus extinguished the fire in the living room and raised the heat without the light of the fireplace in their bedroom while Harry contemplated. He could change into his pajamas, but the thought of sacrificing so many layers was miserable. He felt the bed shifting behind him, and then a hand on his shoulder.

"I believe you would be warmer underneath he blankets rather than on top of them," Severus said silkily, and Harry shivered again. "You are still shaking?"

"Uh, no," Harry managed. "No, sorry. Pajamas or not." A split second after the words were out of his mouth he realized what he had said. "My flannels or what I'm wearing now, I mean." He had to cut himself off from going on a rant about being naked because that was _not_ appropriate.

"This question is so difficult it makes you physically shake?" Severus asked. His hand slid down Harry's shoulder and rested on his waist. Harry wondered if he had any idea, even the slightest winkling, of what he was doing.

"N—no," Harry stammered. "I guess, um, I'm still a little cold. I think—remember over break, when you magicked my clothes into my flannels?"

"Yes," Severus replied.

"Could—would you do that again? Please?" Harry asked. "I'm too cold to actually change, but I'd rather not sleep like this." Severus performed the spell and suddenly Harry really was shaking again for no reason other than being cold. He started to curl in on himself but strong arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him backwards, under the covers and into Severus' arms. He was flush against the other man, and that combined with the many layers of blankets and the fire was enough not to make him warm, but to give the promise of eventual warmth.

"Harry, do not do this again," Severus said again, mouth still tantalizingly close to Harry's ear. "It is not healthy, and depending on your physiology outright dangerous. Your body could slow to the point of your heart and lungs not providing enough blood and oxygen to the rest of your body."

"You're repeating yourself," Harry remarked.

"It bears repeating," Severus replied. "It would greatly displease me were you to make yourself seriously ill."

Harry laughed only a little breathlessly. "Most people would just say they care about me."

"I am not most people," Severus countered. He briefly kissed the sensitive skin just beneath Harry's ear, and Harry shivered again, pushing back against him. He wasn't doing a good job of keeping his body under control this evening. Severus remained silent for a few moments before asking, "Was that related to your temperature?"

Harry blushed darkly, and at least his cheeks were warm now, uncomfortably so. "In a manner of speaking."

Severus let out a quiet breath that Harry didn't understand. He was pulled closer, which he hadn't thought was possible. Harry grabbed his hand, squeezing tightly, an action that Severus returned. He was thrumming with electricity and potential.

"Your hands are freezing," Severus said quietly. "If you have not warmed within a half hour, I'm taking you to the infirmary."

Harry wanted to yell at him that there were plenty of ways he could be warmed up if only he _did_ something about it. Instead he tightened his hold on Severus' hand, which wasn't nearly as satisfying. His lungs and heart were working perfectly well—his blood quite visibly doing what it was supposed to—but it wasn't like he could tell Severus that. He was warm enough there, too. Maybe all of his warmth was just drawn to his erection and that was why his hands were so cold.

"I think I might take a shower," Harry said suddenly. "To, um, warm up."

"No, you need rest," Severus replied firmly. "Too much heat too quickly after being cold is unhealthy. This is safer."

No, it really wasn't, not at all. He'd had trouble with wayward erections around Severus before, but this was significantly more than wayward. It was the silk and the caring and the heat, not to mention going over every detail of their relationship with Ron and Hermione. It was not good, that's what it was.

"Severus, I really think—"

"You do not think," Severus interrupted. "You have used up your allotment of stupidity for the night and are no longer allowed to make decisions."

Harry should have kissed him by the fire. Regardless of the consequences, he should have done _something_. There was definitive proof that their relationship could handle a kiss—could possibly even be helped along by a kiss—and no, it probably wouldn't help Harry's erection, would probably make it worse, but he needed something and he needed it now. He couldn't turn around and kiss him now because it would be irrevocably obvious that he was hard and that was almost certainly not okay. At the very least it was untested, and for once Harry didn't feel like testing anything. He was cold and tired and he just wanted a kiss and a long, slow, relaxing blowjob. What better time to receive his first blowjob than when he was freezing to death and Severus' mouth would undoubtedly be so _hot_?

He wanted to ask. He really couldn't ask. But he wanted to.

He knew he thought this a lot, but there was no way he was going to sleep tonight. He was bloody _throbbing_. And still freezing, especially his feet, and that was an unpleasant combination. In fact, he was starting to shake again for that very reason: trying to hold himself back from giving up and jerking himself or rutting into the mattress or fucking Severus or begging to be fucked (the possibilities were endless, listing them all didn't help) and how cold he was.

Severus let go of his hand and rubbed his arm, trying to warm him. It sort of helped with the cold and only made his other problem worse. Was there any way to stop that? A spell or a potion or something? A bloody Disillusionment charm if that's what it took? He didn't know how to do such a charm on only one part of his body or even if it was possible. Severus would know, but again, not something he could ask.

"I'll take a lukewarm shower," Harry said desperately. "You can set the temperature. I really need a shower. I'm cold and I need a shower."

"You are already warming up," Severus replied.

Was he getting warmer? Harry could barely tell. His feet were still ice blocks attached to the end of his legs, coldness radiating up his shins, and his hands were cooling down now that Severus wasn't holding them, but everything else was focused on his groin. "My feet, and my hands…"

"Turn around," Severus demanded. "Keep your hands between us and rest your feet on mine."

"No," Harry said. "No, no I'm fine. I'd just like some warm water, that's all. A good soak."

"No," Severus repeated irritably. "I am smarter than you and have more experience. Turn around."

"No," Harry said again. "I, um, pulled something, walking back, in my neck."

"Then you should have used your muscle relaxant!" Severus exclaimed. "What has stolen your intelligence so completely? Are your friends really such a bad influence? I can tell you haven't been drinking excessively. Are your feet really so very cold they have frozen your brain as well?"

"Apparently," Harry replied truthfully.

Severus muttered something under his breath, and suddenly the three or four layers of blankets sprouted an extra insulating layer, the blankets attached themselves together, and curved around and beneath them, forming a makeshift sleeping bag. It gave very little room for movement, and Harry let out a quiet whimper as the cloth brushed against him.

"Regardless of your species you still generate some body heat, as do I," Severus said. "You will be warm soon enough. Give it time. And turn around, I promise you will warm faster."

"No," Harry replied for what must have been the hundredth time. "I—I'm fine. You're right, the sleeping bag will help, I'll be fine."

"For Merlin's sake, turn around!" Severus exploded. "Are you truly so daft as to not realize my intentions?"

Harry tensed. What intentions were those exactly? He couldn't know about his erection, Harry had been very careful about that, so what was he talking about? "Um."

Severus kissed beneath kiss ear again, lingering just longer than their usual passing kisses, then his jawline, and finally his cheek. Harry was trying desperately to remain still. "Turn around," Severus said softly, lips barely brushing his ear.

Harry let out a sharp breath. "I can't."

"Why not?" Severus asked, tongue flicking out to trace the shell of his ear.

Harry whimpered again. "I just—can't." He was completely pressed against Severus, and he'd be able to feel if his feelings were reciprocated. Self-pity was starting to creep in along with coldness and lust. He thought Severus might feel the same about him, at least sort of. There was an overwhelming collection of evidence supporting the idea. On the other hand, in all of their time spent together, out all of the nights they had spent together, Harry had never once seen or felt anything. He had been looking, too, though maybe it was called hoping. It was possible he wouldn't have noticed during the day given all the layers Severus wore, but there was no way his black silk pajamas could hide anything. So yes, it seemed possible that Severus was suggesting a repeat of the kiss by the Forest, but clearly he didn't find the prospect appealing.

"I was under the impression you not only enjoyed but actively pushed for any advance in our relationship," Severus said, and the low silky velvet was starting to be replaced with the guarded hardness he so rarely used around Harry anymore.

"I do," Harry replied almost desperately. "Stay. Don't stop."

Severus nipped his earlobe, and Harry let out a quiet moan. "What, then, is the problem?" he asked quietly. Annoyed, guarded and sensual all at once.

"At least I have being cold on my side," Harry said, knowing he was walking on a knife's edge and deciding he didn't care because if Severus kicked him out, at least he could get some relief. "As an excuse for being daft, I mean. What's yours?"

Severus' fingers dug into Harry's side, no doubt due to anger and surprise. Harry let out a surprised squeak of laughter and jerked in his arms.

"No, Sev," he gasped, trying to worm away. "Don't."

Severus stilled. "Potter, are you ticklish?"

"No," Harry said firmly, still trying to get away from his hand. He had loosened his grip, but his fingers were not in a safe place. "Don't call me Potter."

"Don't call me Sev," Severus replied automatically. "My intent was to use different means to warm you, but if you refuse, it seems I have found a new weakness to exploit."

"No, don't," Harry insisted. "How d'you think people would react if I told them the great and formidable Severus Snape tickled me?"

"Brat," Severus snapped. "You wouldn't dare."

"Clearly underestimate my hatred for being tickled," Harry replied. "I'll announce it at breakfast tomorrow. Get your fingers out of my ribs."

Severus flattened his hand and moved inwards, resting on Harry's stomach. His breathing picked up and little shivers started cascading through him. "Has the threat passed?"

Harry could barely understand what he was saying. "Yeah." He licked his lips again. Why were they so dry so suddenly? Maybe he was just more aware of them. "Your hand is warm."

"Mm, and you are still cold," Severus replied, voice like honey again. Harry wasn't sure if he would prefer anger or this—seduction? Could he really call it that? If things were different, if they were actually together, the answer would be obvious, but they weren't. The idea that they could be kept trying to bloom but it was pushed down by doubt: if Severus wanted to be together, if Severus wanted him, he would feel it. He physically couldn't be closer, and he would know.

"I'm warming up," Harry mumbled, and he was, just in all the wrong ways. In fact, he couldn't be much warmer without setting the blankets on fire. The sleeping bag, rather. Whatever. The fabric that rubbed against him with every tiny movement either of them made.

There was a pause. "Harry, if I was truly mistaken about what you want, tell me now."

Harry felt like dying. His organs were curling in on themselves. His heart was clamoring at him to turn around and kiss Severus senseless, to do other things to him until they were both senseless. His brain was yelling at him to shut up and stay still and not to ruin everything. His cock—well, it was obvious enough what that wanted.

"You aren't," Harry said very quietly. "Mistaken. I—I do want. That."

Severus' hand crept down, teasing the bare skin where his shirt had ridden up. Harry's eyes slipped closed and he gasped. Was this actually happening? He could practically feel Severus' fingerprints burning into his still-frozen skin. Details like the whorls and curves of fingerprints didn't exist in dreams, right?

"Then what is the problem?" Severus asked, breathing into Harry's ear.

He couldn't remember. He was only aware of the initial question in the vaguest of ways. Severus' fingers were ghosting along just above the waistband of his flannels, occasionally trailing through the line of hair that led downwards. Harry had no idea that particular spot was so sensitive, but he shuddered every time Severus passed over it. He wasn't pushing his shirt up any farther than it had gone naturally nor dipping below the elastic band, but the potential energy was dancing across him like static electricity.

"Harry?" Severus purred, and Harry whimpered.

"Yeah?" he breathed, eyes closed, focus entirely devoted to the other man.

"Turn around."

Harry did, immediately, mindless of the consequences. Severus wanted him to do something and so he would. One of Harry's arms was trapped between them, the other resting lightly on Severus' hip. Severus' hand moved from his stomach to his back, still beneath his shirt, still the bare contact. Severus nudged Harry's cheek with his own, tilting his face up, and when their lips touched it was like an explosion and Harry instinctually moved forward, pressing against Severus and—

And remembered why he wasn't supposed to turn around.

Harry jerked away, blushing furiously, turning away and bringing his legs up to put a barrier between them, to cover what Severus had obviously felt. He was warm now, oh yes, fucking on _fire_, hot tears threatening to spill onto burning skin, every fiber of his being igniting with embarrassment and humiliation. He had been so close, so fucking _close_, and he was finally going to—

"Well?" Severus asked neutrally, anger lurking beneath the surface. "I was under the impression you wanted to be kissed. Further more, I believe I just _asked_ if that is what you wanted. In case you had not realized this by now, I do not take such things lightly, and if I had not been absolutely positive of reciprocation, I would have left you by the fireplace."

Harry could barely breathe. He chanced a glance at Severus, who looked quite angry, none of it below the surface. "I do want it. You. I do want you," he said, utterly baffled. "I thought you—" He cringed, and looked away again. "Felt. It?"

"So what is the problem?" Severus asked through gritted teeth, clearly trying to restrain himself.

Harry gaped at him. "Um. You don't see a problem?"

Severus stared at him as though he was a complete and utter idiot. "No."

Harry was having a lot of difficulty understanding the conversation. "You, um. You want me?"

Severus gave him a look of disbelief. "What—Harry, I—of all the moronic, dimwitted—" He cut himself off and cupped Harry's check. "Yes."

And still, Harry was on the verge of tears. This was happening in the wrong order. He knew Severus hated to talk, and he would have been happy to kiss as long and as often as Severus was willing, but he couldn't do more. His body was screaming at him to let go of his stupid Gryffindor romanticism or whatever it was, but there was a little voice in the back of his head telling him that he had never gone beyond kissing and he would regret it if something wasn't said.

Then again, what was he looking for? A promise of monogamy? Harry didn't think that would be an issue. He shared a bed with Severus, he would know if he was seeing someone else. Recognition that they were together? They weren't, not in the traditional sense, but in all senses that mattered he had ample proof, physical and verbal. Commitment? That was a joke; Harry never would have thought it possible for Severus to commit, but clearly he had, he didn't need to hear that.

The obvious hit, and Harry's heart twisted. He wanted what he was never going to get, what he could never hope for, ask for, or say himself. He thought it was probably true, but he needed to hear it. He also thought it was possible that, after everything Severus had been through, he couldn't give it to Harry. Never mind the traditional sense, conceivably not in any sense. How was it only now, lying in bed together like this, that Harry finally realized Severus Snape could, in all likelihood, never be in love with him? There was a chance he'd be willing to say it, and if he did he would believe he meant it, but… But he didn't talk, he didn't give himself away, he lived behind walls, he was distant.

It wasn't like all of that hadn't been true for years, though. Harry had been with Severus in one way or another for three and a half years, and none of that had affected his feelings. Yes, sometimes Harry wished he wasn't such an arse, but he still loved him. More than anything. He was being given the opportunity to have him. Any hang-ups about official words or relationship states didn't matter, because he loved Severus. He loved him for who he was, even when that meant he was an arse.

Even if it meant sacrificing everything Harry thought he needed?

Maybe. But first he needed to at least try.

"What if I needed to talk?" Harry asked quietly.

And then Severus did something Harry would have never, ever have guessed, not in a thousand lifetimes. He could have had the Philosopher's Stone and lived a thousand immortal lifetimes and it still wouldn't have crossed his mind.

"Do you think so little of me?" Severus asked, and he was actually smiling, which might have been the strangest of all. "I know you, Harry. I know you need to talk. I will, however, leave the first sentence to you."

Harry didn't have the slightest idea how to respond. Was he just supposed to come out and say it? That he loved him? Was he honestly expecting the sentiment to be returned? Severus almost certainly knew he was a virgin. Thanks to being the Boy Who Lived nothing about his life had ever been private, and since they had been living together for so long, surely he knew. Still, though, telling him would probably be a good plan. What else, though? He had gotten so used to keeping his words to himself that he had no idea how to go about a conversation that wasn't born of fighting or catastrophe.

"What is this?" Harry blurted out. "What are we? We're a something, but is it the sort of something that means cuddling and goodnight kisses and—uh, warming up, I guess? Late night Forest kisses? I mean, I know it's those things, but other than that? I don't really know how to do this, I've never been in this sort of…" He was running out of steam, and a ridiculous smile started to spread across his face. "Yeah, I haven't been in a situation like this before. You being my Basilisk savior and all. Anyway, so no, I don't know what we are, that was my point."

"That I cannot answer," Severus replied. "In your ineloquent, bumbling manner you have already said why—such a situation is, as far as I can tell, new to this world."

Harry continued to smile. He never thought this conversation would result in smiling. He liked that, though. Out of everything that was unique about his life, which was pretty much everything, this was a good sort of unique. Even if it made talking difficult. "Okay, yeah. But, I guess—romantic? Er, we're obviously close in just about every way, but that?"

"What would that imply?" Severus asked. "A continuation of our physical relationship? Would I take you out to dinner?"

Harry laughed nervously. "Um, maybe. I think it's more of a state of mind."

Severus gave him an amused look. "Your intelligibility is astounding. But I suppose, yes, with the understanding that you have been entirely unclear and I will not be bound to rules or expectations you have failed to mention."

Harry's heart soared. He couldn't have asked for more. "Right, okay. So, um." He flushed. "I haven't—er. You know?"

Severus frowned slightly, and then his expression smoothed out, and his smile was more of a smirk that might have been a leer, but a kind, sweet leer, if that existed. "If it is, then it is."

"Oh—okay," Harry stammered. That gaze was slowly turning his insides to butter. Of course, just when he needed his wits about him the most. "One more thing?"

"Yes?" Severus asked, hand sliding from his cheek to his neck, thumb stroking along his pulse, fingers, teasing the short hairs at the back of his neck.

It made thinking very difficult. "I, um." Harry lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper. "I—never mind." He leaned up for a kiss, but Severus turned away. Harry looked into his eyes, hurt.

"If we must talk, the least you can do is be honest," Severus said. "What more do you have to say?"

Harry couldn't. He needed to make up something, he couldn't say what he wanted to. It was Severus and he couldn't tell him he loved him, what on earth had he been thinking? "I was wondering if, uh—" There had to be something, some believable lie. "Well, y'know. Dinner, you said?"

Severus smiled slightly. "You would like me to take you on a date?"

Of course he would, but that wasn't the point. It was also something he would never ask of Severus; he wanted _Severus_, not someone who changed to be what he wanted. "No, just, I dunno. Maybe a meal outside of school? Us?"

"I fail to see how that is not a date," Severus replied. "I would not be adverse."

Goddammit no, this was going all wrong. A few minutes ago he was willing to sacrifice everything for Severus, but that was different. Severus was immovable. The idea of him changing was an affront to nature. Severus would probably like to hear that, actually. It might distract him, if Harry was lucky. "No, I want you. You don't do dates, I don't want that."

"How would you know whether I 'do' dates or not?" Severus asked. "A foolish presumption on your part. However, for now I am putting the matter aside in favor of what you actually wanted to say." Harry winced slightly, and the corner of Severus' lips turned up. "You think I cannot tell when you lie to me?"

Harry blushed again. He'd never said it to anyone before, not like this. He told Ron and Hermione he loved them, yes, and he thought he'd even said the words to Severus when they created the first working version of Vita Salvus. But not like this, not when he was _in_ love. "You said you wanted me," Harry said quietly. "I've told you I want you, too, and that I need you. But, er, not that I—" His tongue knotted itself and his throat closed. His body was refusing to cooperate. Harry was okay with that.

A look of understanding flashed across Severus' face. "Harry, I—"

"Don't," Harry interrupted. "No, don't. Just. I thought you should know."

Severus pulled him into a kiss. A real kiss, their second real kiss. Severus took complete control, tongue dueling with and then dominating Harry's. Harry lost how to breathe, how to think, how to do anything other than be kissed. Severus felt so wonderful, his mouth moving over his. Severus traced his lips, then drew his lower lip into his mouth, nibbling gently before releasing him. Harry drew in a deep, gasping breath, the lack of air making him dizzy. Or maybe that was Severus.

"Does that answer your question?" Severus asked, voice low, eyes dark with lust and something else.

Harry had no idea. "Sure."

Severus kissed him again, briefly and sweetly. "We will talk of that later."

"Do you?" Harry asked. "Not the talk, but how you…?"

Another short kiss. "You know." Then a not-so-short kiss, hand trailing down his back, finding the bare strip of skin above his flannels and teasing. "What do you wish to happen tonight?"

Harry's heart was in his throat and it took all of his infamous Gryffindor courage to continue. He uncurled himself and pressed his body against Severus', hips included. His erection had waned slightly while they talked, but it was obvious enough. "You know," he echoed. "Just not—not all the way, okay? Later. When we talk."

Severus kissed him again, barely more than a brush of the lips. "Yes." He deepened the kiss and it occurred to Harry that he would never get used to this, the novelty would never wear off, and he would forever be utterly useless at kissing. He could, at least, show his appreciation, and he buried his hand in Severus' hair, holding them together, the silkiness against his fingers so much better than his stupid pajamas. Severus continued to dance his fingers along the bare skin of Harry's back, slowly climbing higher as he explored his mouth. Harry's breath was coming in sharp gasps and he hadn't realized he was actively pushing his hips against Severus' until he suddenly became aware of the pressure and added friction. His hips jumped forward, just enough to embarrass himself, and he broke away, tucking his head beneath Severus' chin. Harry was still breathing funnily and Severus still wasn't responding, at least not in any physical way Harry could tell.

"Harry?" Severus asked quietly. His voice was honeyed chocolate and very expensive red wine. He ran his fingers down Harry's spine, and Harry shivered.

"Mm, yeah?" Harry asked, working on keeping his hips still.

"I need you to either continue or stop now," Severus replied. "I cannot give you what you want if you are not clear with me and, in matters such as these, it is very important you are clear."

Once again, Harry had to gather all available courage in order to speak. He wondered what Godric Gryffindor would think of his namesake house using their famous courage in such a way. "You aren't—and I am, and I want to continue, but I don't think you do?" Was that clear? Maybe?

Severus laughed lowly, the sound sending shivers through Harry. "I have had many more years of controlling myself than you do. Do not take that to mean a lack of interest."

Harry forced himself to look up. There was no mistaking the lust swirling through Severus' eyes. "Okay," he said, voice small. "I want this. You, I want you. And, um." He cleared his throat. "You can stop controlling yourself, if you'd like."

Severus smiled dangerously. "As if I have a choice." He captured Harry's lips again, and Harry gave up trying not to embarrass himself. He wrapped a leg around Severus, pulling them closer, and _finally_ Severus hummed quietly in the back of his throat; a small noise, but there, and definitely appreciative. His hand slipped below Harry's waistband, gently running his fingers along his arse, occasionally stopping to squeeze, and Harry moaned into his mouth. It felt too fucking good, he'd been waiting way too long, Severus said repeatedly he wanted this: holding back was no longer an option.

Without quite knowing how it happened, Harry found himself rolled onto his back, Severus still ravishing him. He couldn't exactly tell what was going on, whose limbs were where and how they were lying, but Severus hand had moved from his arse to his hip, still beneath his flannels. It was maddening; his hand was so close but so close didn't count, and he was starting to thrust up into nothing but he could stop, and then Severus shifted, and _oh._

Harry could feel him. Long, hard and hot against his hip, the silk taking on his heat, and Harry moaned at the contact. He made an effort to move in a way that would rub against Severus as well as the air he kept trying to feel, and he didn't think it was particularly graceful, but Severus made a sort of purring noise in the back of his throat, so it didn't matter. Harry anchored his newly freed hand in Severus' hair, needing the silkiness, and, without thinking about it, trailed his other hand down his body and rested on the prominent bulge.

There was a split second of silence, and then they both moaned, Severus pushing into his hand, and Harry whimpering helplessly against his lips. Thank Merlin he hadn't thought first, there was no way he'd be able to work up the courage, but here he was, his hand on Severus' cock, albeit through a layer of silk. Severus was thrusting lightly against him, breaking the kiss so they could breathe. Harry could feel the spot of wetness on the thin fabric, and he moaned again. He probably shouldn't be getting off so much on touching Severus, especially when he wasn't technically touching him, but _Merlin_ he'd wanted this. His cock could wait; his hands couldn't.

Quite suddenly, Harry remembered he had no idea what he was doing. For one thing he was right handed, not left. For another, he'd never touched anyone other than himself. Severus was older, he would have so much more experience, he would know exactly what Harry was lacking. Since he was Severus, he would probably berate him for it, too. He wasn't now, true. He had never looked less likely to complain than he did now, in fact. Eyes closed, lower lip drawn between his teeth, slightly flushed, thrusting, fingers digging into Harry's hip. Harry licked his lips. It shouldn't be possible for anyone to look so good. Severus certainly shouldn't be; Harry was groping him above his pajamas with his wrong hand, how could that possibly cause Severus so much pleasure?

"Severus?" Harry asked quietly.

Severus' eyes flew open, and now Harry's cock required immediate attention. His eyes were so dark, so intense, and Harry could barely breathe.

"What?" Severus breathed, voice strained.

"Am I?" Harry swallowed. "I haven't, I mean."

Severus growled lowly, and Harry moaned again. "Fucking perfect."

Harry crashed their lips together, forcing his tongue into Severus' mouth, thoroughly claiming him. In the back of his head he knew he was in control because Severus was letting him, but that only made it better. High off adrenaline, lust, and an overwhelming feel of _being wanted_, Harry slid his hand beneath the silk that had been taunting him for so long and wrapped his hand around Severus. It was impossible to tell who was making what noise, only that they had both needed this for far too long. Instinct took over as Harry stroked, rubbing against his slit and spreading the precome around, squeezing his head, tracing the seam just below, tightening his grip on his shaft, and back up. He had never been more connected to someone before, never felt this level of need or love or oneness. There were no nerves because there was nothing to feel nervous about; this was them, just them.

It turned out that Harry's favorite move was also Severus'. The first time it elicited a deep groan, the second time his hips snapped forward and Harry inadvertently tightened his grip, causing another groan, and the third time he came. Severus stilled, then surged forward, moaning Harry's name. Harry could barely remember to continue what he was doing; he had never been so aroused in his life, and he wasn't the one spilling onto his hand, moving in tiny, jerky thrusts, fingers digging into his hip so hard it was going to bruise.

Gradually Severus slowed, and muttered a quiet cleaning spell. The last thing Harry wanted to do was stop touching him; he was hard, silken velvet, only now he was really more soft, silken velvet. Harry gave him one last, slow stroke, and took his hand back. It was only then that he realized he was shaking, and his nerves were trembling, and his heart was pounding, and he was petrified. What was he supposed to do now? What came next?

The answer was another one of those surprisingly sweet moments Harry never expected, and probably never would. Severus cupped his cheek and kissed him gently, first just pressing their lips together and then slowly, gently sliding his tongue along Harry's. It didn't exactly calm his anxiety but he could relax, a little, and kiss Severus back. He didn't register any escalation but suddenly he was moaning and thrusting up, once again trying to find friction in air. Why wasn't Severus touching him? Had he done something wrong?

"Severus," he gasped, pulling back just slightly. "Sev, what—?"

"Shh," Severus said quietly, kissing his way down Harry's neck. He nipped gently on his pulse point, and Harry gasped.

"But what—?"

"Harry, shut up," Severus interrupted sharply.

Harry thought that was a good idea, especially because Severus had sat up and hooked his fingers into Harry's flannels and was slowly lowering them. Harry closed his eyes. He couldn't—this couldn't be happening. His erection sprang free, he stopped breathing, and Severus let out a quiet hiss. Harry squeezed his eyes closed. They were already closed, but he closed them more. Severus was the most judgmental person he knew, and he was being appraised in the most intimate way possible. His bottoms were around his knees and nothing was happening and that couldn't mean anything good.

Harry was about to say something, or at least open his eyes, when all thought was driven out of his mind. Warm breath on him and then he was engulfed in hot wetness, and the suction was incredible, and he screamed, arching up. Severus' tongue was everywhere, swirling and tracing patterns, and he was gently squeezing Harry's sac, rubbing and teasing, his other hand sliding backwards and Harry thought, way in the back of his mind, he might know what was going to happen. Nothing mattered because Severus was taking more and more of him into his mouth and there was a strange but not unwelcome pressure on his hole, and then he was sliding into Severus' throat and he was screaming again, and the pressure was now a slight stretching and it still didn't matter because Severus _hummed_.

Then _everything_ mattered. Severus brushed against something and Harry didn't scream but shriek, and Severus swallowed around him. He pulled off so just his head was in his mouth, _sucked_ and rubbed again, and Harry lost everything. He had never come so hard before; everything he was turned to light before exploding, pleasure shooting out to his fingertips and toes, his heart screaming as loud as his voice. And it was Severus, always Severus, only Severus.

Harry collapsed back onto the bed, breathing in great, tearing gasps, forcing his fingers to uncurl from the blankets. He was vaguely aware of Severus redressing him, much more aware of when he came back up, pulled Harry into his arms, and gave him a long, loving kiss. Harry curled around him before completely losing the ability to move.

"Are you warm?" Severus asked, and for some reason it sounded like he was teasing, and Harry hadn't the slightest idea why.

"Course," he muttered, closing his eyes on the way to sleep. "Why?"

Severus laughed quietly. "You were cold, do you not remember? A foolish, ill-fated return from Hogsmeade?"

Oh, that was right. "Yeah," Harry said. "Mhm, warm. I love you."

There was a pause. "Is it later already?" Severus asked, and it was only then that Harry remembered he wasn't supposed to say that.

He wasn't falling asleep anymore. "Um. Yes?"

Severus brushed his fringe off his forehead and gave him a chaste kiss. "If you say so."

Harry's heart was hammering again. "So you don't, then?"

"You are incredibly stupid, Harry," Severus replied. "I refuse to dignify such a statement. Go to sleep; clearly you are fit for nothing more."

Harry's heart stopped this time, and the extremes were starting to hurt. Unless, of course, it was Severus who was tearing his heart to pieces. "You—do?"

"Sleep," Severus insisted firmly. "I told you, we will talk later."

"It is later," Harry replied, his afterglow mixing unpleasantly with fury and frustration at Severus' incapability of answering a simple yes or no question. "It's later and I told you. I start everything, I always take the first step, so just tell me. One way or another, tell me."

"In the middle of a fight?" Severus asked. "After your first time?"

"We wouldn't be fighting if you'd just answer," Harry replied angrily. "And yes, after. Before, really, but I already knew, so waiting to hear the words was okay then. It's not now. Tell me."

"You would not rather until _I_ feel the time is right?" Severus asked irritably. "Are you so impatient?"

"Yes!" Harry yelled, trying to hide the hurt and fear behind anger. "Look, if you don't love me then tell me that, but I need you to answer me."

"Impertinent brat," Severus muttered. "You know I do. What is the point in dragging the words out of me by force? How does that satisfy your need better than a heartfelt declaration?"

"Because you don't do heartfelt declarations!" Harry exclaimed. "Either I'm going to yell at you until you give in or it's never going to happen. Here, I'll give you the perfect opening: Severus, I'm in love with you." His heart was slamming in his ears and he was worried he wouldn't be able to hear the reply one way or another. Then he was roughly turned and pulled into an almost violent kiss. He matched Severus' anger and passion for a moment before jerking away, breath uneven once again. "Well?" he demanded.

"I love you," Severus spat, looking and sounding furious. "You are impossibly difficult and I would put up with you for nothing less."

"Fine," Harry said, thrumming with anger and love and excitement and residual lust and, less romantically, muscles shaking with exhaustion. If the cold wasn't bad enough, he had to have an earth-shattering orgasm as well. "Thank you. Good night." He settled back into Severus' arms, who didn't give him time to worry whether or not he would be welcome; Harry was immediately held almost painfully tightly, and Severus twined their fingers together with a crushing force.

"You make so many assumptions," Severus said, anger starting to seep away. "I do not go out on dates, I do not make heartfelt declarations. I certainly would not if I weren't in, how did you phrase it? A romantic state of mind?" He sniffed scornfully. "I have said it so many times, and somehow it will never be enough: you are an idiot."

"You're a stubborn arse who only thinks about himself," Harry replied, though his heart wasn't in it. It just hit him that Severus actually said that he _loved him_. _Said _it. With _words_. "I only assume what you give me reason to think."

"Then you are more of an idiot than I thought," Severus countered. "Did you truly not believe I love you?"

Harry's heart jumped. "N—no, I thought you did," he stammered, then firmed himself. "But it's exactly that. I need to hear things. That's not an unreasonable request, Severus, for you to tell me that."

"Just shut up," Severus said. He kissed his forehead again. "Sleep."

"Fine, but only because I'm tired," Harry replied stubbornly. He yawned, then settled further into his arms. "That was—before the fighting, I mean—the most—"

"Shh," Severus interrupted, squeezing his hand. "That is not something you can clarify with words."

Harry nodded sleepily. "You're right. But," he added quickly, "I'm right about the other thing."

"Most relevant, I am right about how late it is, the work you missed tonight, and the friends you are entertaining tomorrow," Severus said. "Go to sleep."

"You always need to have the last word," Harry muttered, though he couldn't argue with any of Severus' points.

"Good night, Harry."

Harry wisely decided to let it go. He had what he wanted—more than he could ever possibly want, in fact—and he needed to fall asleep before the reality of what just happened sunk in, otherwise he'd be up all night.

Then again, he was in Severus' arms, so he was asleep a few moments later.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N:** Helloooo! I know I've been promising a switch to MWF but life has been crazy and I'll have to see if I can get life in order to do so. Also, just a warning: I'm out of prewritten HP stories—Snarry or Drarry—and when this is done, that'll be it. I will try to write some more, but Camp NaNo starts Monday, plus I've got some emergency knitting to do, and I don't know if I'll have time. If I do, expect an additional chapter or two of epilogue for _Starched Cuffs, Sidetracked, _maybe _A Misunderstanding_, and possibly a few others that have been requested. In the mean time, enjoy!

**Warning:** sexual situations between two of age, consenting men. Nothing too hugely graphic, still saving that for later on, but I think you'll enjoy it.

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

**62**

"—not available."

"Yeah, but we had plans."

"If we could just—"

"Perhaps if your plans were better made, you would not be pounding on my door at such an ungodly hour of the morning."

Harry frowned into his pillow, barely awake. For a moment he thought he was back in Gryffindor Tower, but no, that couldn't be right. He was in his bed. He heard Severus. Neither of those things had ever been in Gryffindor Tower.

"—find said door?"

Yes, definitely Severus.

"We went to Neville's first, and he—"

_Shit_.

That would be Ron and Hermione, wondering why he wasn't at breakfast after he specifically promised to meet them by the Great Hall. Harry jumped out of bed, ran through the living room and into the lab. Severus had firmly planted himself in the doorway, and Harry had to squeeze between him and the wood in order to get to his friends.

"Hi," he said, out of breath. Ron and Hermione looked—blurry, actually, he hadn't thought to put his glasses on. "Sorry, I overslept. Come in, I'll be ready in a minute." He might not be able to see, but he could feel the glare Severus was giving him as he stepped aside to make room for Ron and Hermione. Harry led them into the living room and, after a brief debate regarding how little Severus would want them in his private room versus leaving them alone with the man, Harry pushed them into the bedroom and closed the door. A second later a different door slammed, and the shower turned on. Harry breathed a sigh of relief and went to get his glasses.

Ron started. "That was—"

"Unexpected," Hermione said quickly. "We went to the Great Hall first, of course, but you weren't there, and we were going to go in anyway when we ran into Neville, who directed us here. We were skeptical, but—"

"Overslept?" Ron interrupted. "Is that code for something I don't want to know about?"

"Yes," Harry said simply. "Turn around, I'm going to change." There was a moment of silence as he started throwing clothes onto the bed.

"I thought you weren't—involved, like that," Hermione said carefully.

"Things change," Harry replied, a stupid grin starting to spread across his face.

"Since last night?" Ron asked.

"Yup," Harry replied, tugging on his pants and an old pair of jeans.

"What, exactly, changed?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know, it's just been since last night," Harry said, pulling on a long sleeved shirt. He considered, then went over to the closet and started hunting for a sweater.

"Maybe start with when you left the Three Broomsticks?" Hermione suggested.

Harry grabbed a black turtleneck and, voice muffled by the fabric as he put it on, said, "I'm decent. Are you sure you want to hear? Ron, you said—"

"We want to hear," Hermione overrode.

"Just not, y'know, the—details," Ron said, looking vaguely ill.

Harry ushered them into the living room so they could sit, and, speaking quietly so Severus wouldn't hear over the shower, told them the story. It was a little difficult, because Ron kept interrupting whenever he thought Harry might be starting to over-share, but eventually he made it through.

"I—I really don't know what to say," Hermione said. "I'm—happy for you? Yes, I'm definitely happy for you. I don't—"

The water shut off, and they fell silent. The bathroom door opened a crack, sending steam billowing into the living room, and a black blur of clothing shot out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, followed immediately by the door slamming shut.

"Did we get you in trouble?" Ron asked. He smiled mischievously, the old smile from their school days. "Harry, are you in trouble with your professor?"

Harry smacked him. "Shut up. Probably. Come on, let's go to breakfast before he gets out. I've got no idea what he's going to be like after last night, never mind you waking him up."

"I bet you're going to get detention," Ron said smugly as they left.

"And how do you think that'll go?" Harry asked. "I spend pretty much every waking hour with him as it is. Any punishment would fall into the category of things you don't want to hear about."

Ron's expression fell. "Oh, right."

"Do you think it will be all right?" Hermione asked nervously. "Never mind us, no doubt he loved starting his morning by humiliating us. After last night, I mean. You said nothing changes even when it should."

"I imagine so," Harry replied, though he was nervous too. "He said he loves me, and he said we're—bloody hell, I don't know. Romantically involved, I suppose. Things have got to change. He hates talking about emotional stuff, there's no way he'd go all out like that if he didn't expect something to happen." Grand words. Harry almost believed them. "Yeah, it'll be fine."

"And you'll keep us updated?" Ron asked. "No more waiting and seeing?"

"Yeah, of course," Harry replied. "I'll owl you every night to tell you nothing's happened."

"It will happen," Hermione said, sounding awfully confident for somebody who had just asked that very question. "You're right. He opened up, he wouldn't shut down again."

"Yeah," Harry said again. "Yeah, of course. It might be an adjustment, y'know, take some time, but things will change. They've already changed."

"Right," Ron said. "He definitely says what he means. He's never been shy about that."

"He's brave, too," Hermione added. "He won't back down."

"Exactly," Harry said with much more conviction than he felt. "Come on, Minerva's set us up a table behind the High Table so we can eat together. Neville, too. He's probably worried Severus killed you."

They joined their friend and settled down for a relatively relaxing breakfast. Neville was brought up-to-date on the previous night's events, and after that conversation moved away from Severus.

The only awkward moment was when Severus arrived. He passed by their table on the way to his seat, and he stopped just long enough to lean down and say, "Harry, the next time you wish to wear my clothing, do be kind enough to ask. I expect that spot of hollandaise sauce to be gone by the time you return it to me."

Harry blushed darkly and stammered out to his friends that he hadn't mean to borrow his sweater and he didn't know it was his because it had gotten mixed up with his clothes, one of the house elves must have made a mistake, and that got Hermione going about house elves, and conversation moved on.

Harry ended up spending the entirety of Saturday with his friends, trading a full day with them for a completely miserable Sunday. He had to catch up on his lessons with Severus, grade a weekend's worth of essays, review the lesson plan for the coming week, and try to negotiate the terms of his new relationship with Severus, all while knowing Ron, Hermione, and Neville were out having fun.

The bit about his relationship was really bollocks, though. He was too busy to do much other than accept the cup of tea that was handed to him and reminded that he had to go to both lunch and dinner. Severus went to bed significantly before he did, and by the time Harry collapsed onto their bed at quarter past three in the morning, Severus was quite asleep and Harry was too tired to care. It did not make for a romantic start.

**63**

On the other hand, things did change.

Harry and Severus sat together at meals. Not some meals when it was convenient, but almost every single one. At first it involved a strange sort of magic Harry could never quite see and nobody else seemed to exactly notice, but after a few days there were always two empty seats next to each other waiting for them without Filius appearing on the other end of the table, or Hagrid's chair switching spots while nobody was watching. There weren't any public displays of affection, of course, but knowing that he cared enough to make it happen was extraordinary.

They sat together while grading as well. That wasn't new either, but there was no longer a couch between them. Piles of essays were strictly kept to the coffee table, inkwells set to hover nearby, and while there was no direct contact due to a need to write, there was an undeniable physical closeness.

Good night kisses morphed from a slight brushing of the lips to something far more intense. So did good morning kisses, back-from-teaching kisses, I-just-beat-you-at-chess-and-need-to-literally-rub-your-face-in-it kisses, and, of course, by the Forest kisses. Harry was a huge fan of these kisses. They never wavered, never grew less intense, he never learned how to compensate for how incredible Severus was so he could properly return the kiss, and when he realized he wasn't being so much kissed as _ravished_, and on a regular basis, he enjoyed them even more.

And, well. There were the kisses that turned into more than kisses. They didn't stray beyond what they had done the first night, but they didn't need to, at least not yet. Harry was still very new at—well everything, and he appreciated the slowness. They never talked about it, of course, but he had the distinct feeling it wasn't accidental, and that Severus was giving him time to get his bearings. Harry had no idea how long they would stay where they were, and while he didn't care at first, he found himself getting excitedly antsy. Was he supposed to initiate it, or would it be up to Severus, when he felt Harry ready? One of the thousands of questions Harry had about the situation he didn't dare ask.

There were, of course, the things that didn't change. The words I love you were not repeated, and that Harry left up to Severus. Aside from eating together, their public relationship remained the same. There were those who suspected, Minerva chief among them, but other than his friends, no one knew for sure. Severus didn't suddenly become bright and shiny, he pushed Harry just as hard in lessons as he had before, and they still fought. They would usually cool off by the time they got into bed, but there were a few nights spent at opposite edges of the mattress, tugging angrily at the blankets so they would both be covered.

The second Wednesday in April Harry was pulled out of class to meet with a group of researchers from St. Mungo's. Minerva was extremely upset about it, especially given that nobody had told her it was going to happen, but the head Healer had a letter from the Board of Governors with permission and dates and signatures, so there was nothing to be done. This time she and Poppy both supervised, though there wasn't much they could do about it. Harry was subjected to the same poking, prodding, sampling, and demonstrating as he was before. This time they learned to ask before taking any venom, and Harry flat-out refused to give them a scale. When they pushed him, he said, quite calmly, that he would give them a scale when each of them sliced off a piece of their skin to give to him in the interest of research, and that ended the conversation.

When they finally left, Poppy gave him the same concoction of medication she did last time: Dittany, Pepperup and Blood Replenishing potion. He had missed dinner, and this time Minerva insisted he stay and have a few sandwiches before leaving. Harry wanted to protest, to tell her that he was too tired and wanted to go to bed and just the thought of chewing hurt, but he was too tired for that as well.

Halfway through his meal the door to the infirmary slammed open and Severus swept in, robes billowing, looking so furious Harry momentarily forgot he was no longer a student and prepared himself to be screamed at.

"What is this?" he hissed, coming to stand by the edge of Harry's bed. "Harry disappears for hours on end and I find him in the infirmary?"

Minerva handed him the letter from the Governors while Harry nibbled at his sandwich, trying not to be pleased that Severus was so upset on his behalf. It never occurred to him what having that sort of power and anger on his side would be like. Severus skimmed it, the parchment crinkling under his fingers as he tightened his grip.

"Why was I not called?" he asked through gritted teeth, handing the note back.

"The situation was under control," Minerva replied, and Harry heard a tone in her voice that didn't bode well. "I would think our own Healer as well as the Headmistress would serve as better guardians than a mentor."

Ah, so they were going to have this conversation now. Harry supposed he knew it was coming from the moment he moved in with Severus, and certainly since their relationship changed, but that didn't mean he was any more prepared for it.

"You do not think it relevant that I am the one who has gone through this with Harry from the beginning?" Severus asked. "I know his condition as well as he does, and certainly better than either of you. What gives you the impression you are qualified to treat him at all? Have you any knowledge of the physiology of reptiles? You wouldn't know what to guard against in the first place."

"Only Harry knows where to draw the line," Minerva replied, lips thinning. "The Board has given St. Mungo's carte blanche to do as they see fit. It is Harry's responsibility to speak up for himself, and mine to enforce his needs, jobs we are fully capable of handling on our own."

"The remedies I gave Harry are the same that he took the last time the Healers were here," Poppy said. "All old cures that have been tested time and time again over the centuries. I know full well of the excessive use of Pepperup the two of you employed several years ago, Dittany is known to work on animals as well as humans, and if Blood Replenishing potion can work on any blood type, it can certainly handle Harry."

"You should have sent word," Severus said cuttingly.

"I didn't think you kept such close tabs on Harry," Minerva replied, sounding and looking like that's exactly what she thought. "I did not think a few hours of absence was enough to warrant your attention."

"When he does not show up for his lesson it does indeed 'warrant my attention'," Severus said, placing an ironic emphasis on Minerva's words. "Harry told me what the 'Healers' did to him the last time they were here, and the abuse they inflicted on him is enough to warrant anyone's attention."

"I was not aware you cared so deeply, Severus," Minerva said. "Your feelings are truly, very touching. In the future when you are overcome with emotion, I would ask you to refrain from raising your voice and challenging my authority, regardless of any hidden wells of suppressed compassion."

Harry briefly wondered if Severus was going to set Minerva on fire with the force of his glare. Then the anger faded away, replaced with concern, and he looked at Harry for the first time. "Are you all right?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I'm sore and tired, but I'm fine."

Severus brushed Harry's fringe to the side, and Harry glowed at the private gesture done in front of others. "You should have called me."

"I didn't have time," Harry replied honestly. "I got pulled out in the middle of class and dragged up here. Besides, really, I can handle myself." He tried a small smile. "I am rather dangerous, you know."

Severus frowned. "Do not make light of this. I will have a word with the Governors, and—"

"You will not," Minerva interrupted sharply. "I had to fight very hard to convince them to let Harry continue to work here, and you will do nothing to jeopardize his position."

"There is only so much room in my infirmary," Poppy said. "Especially when occupied by a fifty foot snake. Even if you had known, I would have sent you away."

Severus muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "I'd like to see you try," and Harry couldn't help but smile. Then, surprising everyone, Severus said in Parseltongue, "Do not let this happen again, especially without me. I do not trust these idiots."

Harry answered him in Parseltongue as well. "I told you, I didn't have any control over it."

"That is my point!" Severus hissed loudly. "You need someone who will put your needs first, not those of the school."

Harry's eyes hardened. "Minerva would never do that."

"Clearly she has," Severus replied, gesturing at the letter from the Governors. "I would never have agreed to such a thing."

"So you'd have let them sack me?" Harry challenged. "I'd be in the Hebrideans if it weren't for Minerva."

Severus' expression softened. "No, of course not, but—"

"Trust me," Harry said, reaching out and taking his hand. Severus squeezed back for a moment before letting go.

"Harry has agreed that I should be present at any future research explorations in order to translate," Severus said in English. "As I am the only one who can understand Harry in his other form, my presence is both convenient and a safety measure I am shocked you failed to account for. As Poppy put it, having a fifty foot snake loose in the infirmary is hardly ideal, and communication under such circumstances is key."

Harry was about to protest, to announce that wasn't what they had been talking about at all, but he decided it might be wiser to keep his mouth shut.

"There is no other reason you feel so strongly about being present?" Minerva asked.

"Do you want to tell her?" Harry asked in Parseltongue. "We haven't talked about it, but everyone already knows. There's no reason not to."

"It is our business and no one else's," Severus replied.

"I know you're private, but really, she knows," Harry said. "What do you think Minerva thinks we're talking about now? Your translating abilities?"

Severus grimaced. "After what you have been through today, if it is that important to you, fine."

Harry's jaw dropped. He never thought Severus would agree, and definitely not so quickly, and absolutely not without an argument. "He'll be here because I want him here," Harry said in English. "Severus doesn't like the idea of being needed, that's why he didn't want to tell you, but he's right. I need someone who knows about me and my condition, and someone I can talk to." He put the plate of sandwiches on the bedside table and stood. "Assuming my duties to the Governors are filled, I'm done with this."

There were no protests—no words at all, actually—so Harry left, Severus at his side.

As soon as they were out of the room, Severus asked quietly, "I thought you were going to tell them?"

Harry shrugged, smiling slightly. "It's more important to you than to me." He took Severus' hand again, this time not letting go. "Besides, really, everyone knows. It doesn't matter."

"They certainly will if you do not release my hand," Severus replied irritably, not making any move to pull away. "Have you eaten enough?"

The sandwiches were sitting like a lead ball in Harry's stomach. "Yeah," he said unhappily. "No more food. A dose of muscle relaxant, then a shower, then bed. I'll make up my lesson tomorrow."

"I believe you have learned enough for the day," Severus replied. "Today's lesson may have been in the idiocy of bureaucracy, but it is one you must become familiar with."

"Yeah," Harry said again. The farther they walked the more uncomfortable he became, and by the time they reached the lab, he could barely lift his feet enough to get to the potion.

"You are in no condition to shower," Severus said, anger slipping in again. "Magically rid yourself of the residue from their tests, and I will draw you a bath."

Harry nearly choked, coughing painfully as the potion stuck in his throat. "I can—"An interruption to cough again. "—take care of my own—" He cleared his throat, making an awful sound in the process. "—baths."

"And yet you will not," Severus replied. "Stop coughing, I can see it hurts your back. Do not drink too much potion, either; I won't have you turn into a slug again."

Harry blushed. "That was just that one time, and I had just finished the first version, and I didn't know how strong it was. And I wasn't a slug, I just…"

"Could not move on your own," Severus supplied. "Stop arguing. Clean yourself, and come in when you are ready."

"Also, I can't control if I'm coughing or not!" Harry called after him, suddenly realizing the ridiculousness of the statement. "Clearly I wouldn't be if I had the choice!" Which was a bit ironic, as yelling caused another bout of coughing. When it finally subsided, he finished the dose of potion and rolled his shoulders, trying to see if it helped. It was always good for after a long day of standing up or if he fell asleep on the couch and woke up with a crick in his neck, but changing back and forth from a Basilisk for several hours straight was different. He determined that, yes, his muscles had relaxed, but they were still screaming in pain from having been stretched and squeezed and broken.

Almost an improvement.

Harry performed a quick _Terego_ and went inside. The door to the bathroom was open a crack, the sound of running water and the smell of raspberries drifting out. Harry made sure he didn't look too happy about Severus taking care of him; if there was one way to make him angry, it was to acknowledge when he was nice. Instead Harry went into the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea, heating the water and infusing it with chamomile instantaneously. There were definitely benefits to being familiar with potions. He slowly sipped his drink, willing himself to remain on his feet and not sit down, knowing if he did he wouldn't be able to get back up.

The issue became less important as he lost himself in thought, his aching muscles fading from his mind and replaced with more important ideas. Questions, really, always questions. What did it mean that Severus was willing to tell people about their relationship? It could have just been the practical realization that, yes, everyone knew, especially Minerva. If she ever had any doubts, the way he had acted in the infirmary would have squashed them. Harry smiled to himself. He had grown up alone, he was independent, he had taken on Voldemort and won, but there was something so basely comforting about Severus standing up for him like that. He wasn't a damsel in distress, he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but it was nice, sometimes, to have someone do it for him.

Like running a bath, for instance. It was one of those disarmingly sweet actions Severus so rarely did, the sort of thing Ron and Hermione would never believe. Still, though, it raised a whole host of questions, the most important of which was whether or not Severus was expecting to join him, and how to navigate finding the answer. Of course he could just ask him to stay, but that seemed too forward, and, well. For all of the fooling around they had done, Harry had never actually _seen_, and had never actually _been_ himself. Rather, they had, but under the blankets and by the very dim light of a fire. There was no standing around naked, or long, extended cuddling without clothes. Harry wanted there to be, wanted both of those things very much, but he was so tired, and everything hurt. He was fairly certain such states would lead in a very specific direction that he also wanted, but was still a little scared, and he was already sore and didn't really want to instigate an activity that would push and stretch his muscles more than they already were. Of course that particular activity would offer significantly more pleasure than changing back and forth, but that didn't mitigate how sore he already was. Not to mention that he didn't exactly look his best at the moment. He wasn't obviously bruised and Dittany had taken care of the needle marks, but even if there wasn't a specific physical flaw from the Healers, he had been put through his paces and there was no way he looked his best.

The water shut off, and Harry quickly finished his tea and headed towards the bathroom. His stomach was filled with butterflies and lead sandwiches and tea, and he felt a little like throwing up. In a good way, except for the sandwiches. Those were just awful. Severus—fully clothed—stepped out of the bathroom and closed the door behind himself.

"Did the muscle relaxant help?" Severus asked.

"Not really," Harry replied nervously.

Severus frowned slightly. "You do not look well. Are you certain you are okay?"

Harry flushed. "Yeah, I'm just tired and in pain. You're right, a bath's probably a better idea than a shower. Less standing."

"Indeed." Severus closed the distance between them, tilted Harry's face up and kissed him. Gently but insistently, long enough to make Harry sigh and lean against him. Severus supported him for a moment before pulling away. "Go, before the water gets cold."

That answered that question, and Harry was equal parts disappointed and relieved. Harry leaned up for a brief kiss and quietly said, "Thank you." Then he added in Parseltongue, "For in the infirmary, too." It seemed less likely to anger him if the words weren't spoken in English, though Harry still probably should have gone without.

On the other hand, the look Severus gave him was heart-meltingly intense, and when he gently brushed Harry's cheek with his hand, Harry decided it was, in fact, the right thing to say.

"Do you have any plans this weekend?" Severus asked.

Harry looked at him, confused. "No, same as always. Lessons, grading, brewing, y'know. Why, is there something I should know about?"

"I would like to take you to dinner," Severus replied. Harry froze, caught completely off guard. "Friday night."

Harry needed a moment to remember how to think. "I, yeah, okay, that'd be good."

Severus allowed himself a very small smile before going back to ordering him around. "You are wasting the hot water. Even with a warming spell, it will not last forever."

Harry smiled back. It was an effort to not explode into a giant, all-consuming grin, but he kept it at a more normal quirk of the lips. "Okay, sorry. Going now."

Stepping into the bathroom was like what Harry imagined stepping into heaven would be like. Billowy white clouds of raspberry scented steam, sauna-esque warmth, light coming from strategically placed candles, and a tub filled with drifts of light blue bubbles. He was having a very hard time reckoning this scene with Severus. He quickly stripped down and sunk into the tub.

_Oh_.

The water was the perfect temperature, the bubbles were delightfully fluffy, and Severus had somehow charmed the tub to be soft and cushiony instead of hard porcelain. The raspberry infusion was already sinking into his muscles, healing and relaxing. Harry closed his eyes and relaxed. This wasn't like walking into heaven; it _was_ heaven. And Severus had given it to him.

Harry found himself wishing very much that Severus had chosen to join him, no matter how awkward it would be. They'd see each other naked in good lighting eventually, so why not tonight? As for going further, they didn't have to. If he was leaning against Severus instead of the pillow-esque tub, his hand would be in a perfect position to slide in from his hip, and…

Harry sighed contentedly, arching up into his hand.

"_Feeling better?" Severus asked silkily, trailing his fingers along Harry's shaft, teasing more than pleasuring._

"_Mm," Harry sighed. "More."_

_Severus tightened his hand just slightly. "I love seeing you like this," he breathed. "Spread out in front of me, thrusting into my hand."_

_Harry laughed breathlessly. "I love it more."_

_Severus shifted, and suddenly there was a hardness pressing against him, pushing between his cheeks and doing no more. "I doubt it."_

_Harry wriggled back against him, then forward into his hand. "More."_

"_Impatient brat," Severus whispered, kissing the spot just below his ear, the one he knew was sensitive. He licked, nibbled gently, then kissed again. Harry shifted against him, whimpering quietly. He gripped Severus' thigh with his left hand and grabbed his wrist with his other, trying to speed his movements. "Very impatient," Severus amended._

"_Yeah," Harry replied. "Yeah, more, please? Faster?"_

"_I draw you a bath," Severus said. "I defend your honor, draw you a bath, and you expect to boss me around in bed as well?"_

"_We're in the bath," Harry corrected. "And yes."_

_Severus growled lowly, rubbing himself against Harry. He didn't go faster, but he did localize his attention to Harry's head, thumbing his slit and tightening his grip. "Remind me again why I spoil you so?"_

_Harry grinned, or tried to. It was rather difficult to keep control of his expressions in this particular situation. "Because I do this." He shifted, lifted his hips, and impaled himself. Severus groaned in response, thrusting up uncontrollably. Harry moaned, lowering himself as Severus continued to touch him. Once he was sitting again, the entirety of Severus' length inside him, he added, "Because you love me."_

"_Brat." Severus started rocking against him, not so much thrusting as creating a slight friction, his hand matching pace. "Relax. You won't feel better if you're so tense."_

"_Beg to differ," Harry said, wiggling against him, needing more. "I'm fine. Just need more."_

"_I thought you were in pain," Severus said teasingly. "Is that not why I drew you a bath and am bending to your every whim?"_

"_Right, so go faster," Harry whined, lifting himself and dropping back down. At least trying to; the slickness of the tub made such movements very difficult. "That's my whim."_

_Severus released his cock, eliciting a loud whimper, and grabbed his hips, momentarily stilling him. "Do you promise not to complain?"_

"_Fuck yes," Harry whimpered, pushing back, rutting helplessly against the water._

"_Okay," Severus whispered, drawing the word out, breathing into his ear. The hands on his hips tightened, and suddenly Severus was lifting and dropping, slamming up into him, changing the angle so he rubbed against his prostate with every stroke, and Harry was screaming, his voice echoing off the tiled walls, one hand going to touch himself, needing something more, he was so close, he was tightening, his body taking control of the rhythm and forcing Severus to relent control._

"_Fuck, Harry." Severus' voice was strained and tight, muffled slightly by his lips pressing against his neck. "More. Tighter."_

_Harry tried to laugh at the change in their rolls, but it just came out a breathy pant. He squeezed his muscles and Severus let out a low groan, slamming up into him. Harry gasped, tightening his hand, riding Severus and rutting into himself uncontrollably, chasing what was right there, so close, just a tiny bit more, if he could just—_

Just actually have his cock in him. Imagery could only get him so far when he needed to be filled, taken, claimed. He'd gotten used to Severus' hand, and while he could imitate his movements, there was no substitute for the large, strong, calloused fingers he was used to. He couldn't generate enough friction on the tub to finger himself at all, which was probably just as well because, again, Severus was so much bigger than him in every way, fingers included, so it would be more teasing than helpful.

Harry whimpered, head thrown back against the edge of the tub, giving himself as much as he could which, apparently, wasn't anywhere near enough these days. He could get Severus off; surely he ought to be able to handle himself. He'd been doing so for years, this wasn't new.

He whimpered again. _Fuck_ he was close, it just wasn't—quite—enough.

Not to mention, kind of pathetically, that fantasy-Severus was right, and the stress he was putting on his already taxed body was not helping. An actual release probably would, but getting wound up and held at the edge like this was in no way relaxing. Everything hurt worse than it had before despite the raspberry infusion and the cushioned tub. He shouldn't have started this in the first place; he should've just laid back and relaxed and, if he wanted to fool around, ask Severus afterwards. Instead he had to go and ruin his bath. The bath that Severus had prepared for him in an uncharacteristic bout of niceness.

Harry rested his hands on the side of the tub and closed his eyes. He was going to enjoy this, dammit. Nice and relaxing, easing the tension out of his muscles, repairing the minute rips and tears from changing so often, all of that. No stress. No stubborn erection. No inability to get himself off anymore. Just… relaxing.

Fuck it.

Harry let out the water and dried himself off despite his screaming muscles and despite the screaming voice in his head telling him he was being ungrateful and unreasonable and that he needed to learn patience. Just leaning over to dry himself properly hurt, and when he wrapped the towel around his waist, it was more than obvious what his problem was. It didn't help that he hadn't thought to bring his pajamas in; not that they would have disguised his erection, but at least he wouldn't be half naked as well.

Severus was in the living room, but didn't turn around when Harry came out.

"Was your bath unsatisfactory?" he asked coolly.

"No," Harry said quickly. "No, um, not at all. A bit too satisfactory?"

Severus turned around, lips pursed in annoyance. "What—" His eyes drifted lower, and his expression turned into a smirk. "Ah, I see."

Harry crossed his arms and looked at the ceiling, unable to meet Severus' eyes. "So, um."

"You could not take care of your situation on your own?" Severus asked, though he sounded quite pleased.

"Er, well, turns out I'm used to you," Harry said, still not meeting his eyes. This was humiliating. Not to mention that standing hurt, as well as the towel that rubbed against him when he did things like shift his weight or breathe.

The smile in Severus' voice was obvious. "You cannot come without me?"

Fucking hell. "Look, just take it as a compliment, all right? Everything hurts and I'm bloody exhausted so I'm going to go lie down. If you want to join me, clearly I would like that." Harry wasn't even through the bedroom door when Severus appeared behind him, resting a hand on his bare back, leaning over his shoulder and whispering in his ear.

"You expect me to turn down such an offer?"

Harry's eyes closed, he inhaled sharply, and he shivered. Severus wrapped an arm firmly around him, probably to make sure he didn't outright collapse, and that was good. "I'm really tired," he breathed, forcing his legs to work. "And everything hurts."

"Is that a warning of a lack of reciprocity?" Severus asked, helping Harry onto their bed and unwrapping the towel.

"No," Harry said, eyes still closed, snuggling into the pillows. Lying down was _good_. Possibly better than what was coming. Severus didn't reply right away, and Harry sleepily opened his eyes. Severus was sitting on the side of the bed looking at him hungrily, like he had never seen him before.

Which, Harry suddenly realized, he hadn't.

Harry froze, wincing as his abused muscles tightened. It hadn't occurred to him that he wasn't dressed or that the room was well lit or that he wasn't under the blankets or—

"I'll just, uh," Harry stammered, trying to get the blankets out from underneath himself. Then Severus was over him, pushing him down, crashing their lips together. His hands were everywhere and Harry moaned, mostly from his touch and partially from the release of tension that came with his obvious approval. He couldn't do much other than let himself be kissed and touched—moving was far too difficult—but it seemed Severus was plenty occupied without him doing anything other than being there.

This was so much better than the bath. The bath had been good, very good, heavenly, but this was better. He was warm from the fire and Severus' body heat, he was being completely ravished, someone far more skilled than he was touching his erection, and, well, it was Severus. He loved Severus. Being with him, under him, touched by him, kissed by him, that was all better than not having those things happen.

Severus broke the kiss but kept his mouth very active, kissing and licking his way down Harry's body. He left several marks on his neck that were sure to be very obvious and another on his collarbone (that nearly caused Harry to come on its own; Severus had discovered the sensitivity of his collar bones a few weeks ago and used it to his full advantage as often as possible). He teased his nipples, biting just past what was purely comfortable in a way that somehow made it more erotic. His ribs and stomach were thoroughly explored, and by the time Severus replaced the very light grip on his cock with his mouth, Harry was gone.

Time stretched forever, pleasure and heat and Severus all he could register. Slowly he started to breathe again, his body relaxed completely, all evidence of his earlier activities gone, and he hummed contentedly when Severus pulled the blankets over him. He wasn't quite sure how he had gotten them from beneath him in the first place, but it wasn't relevant. Severus gave him a brief kiss before dimming the light and starting to leave.

"Wait," Harry muttered, forcing his eyes open. "Wait, no, come back. What about you?"

"You need to sleep," Severus said firmly.

Harry frowned. "No, I want to."

"That is a shame, because you will not be," Severus replied with a bit of a smile. "Go to sleep, Harry. I can take care of myself, unlike some."

"But—"

Severus silenced him with another kiss. "I will be back shortly and read while you sleep, all right?"

"Fine," Harry mumbled, realizing his eyes had already closed again and he was too tired to argue further. "Love you."

_Shit._ What was _wrong_ with him tonight? First learning that he couldn't come without Severus, followed by _telling_ him that, and now saying—

Severus ran a hand through Harry's hair. "As do I."

Harry fell asleep sporting a ridiculous smile before Severus had left the room.

An unknown amount of time later, Harry was aware of being drawn into a tight hug, of warm skin against his, of silk against his arse. He frowned slightly.

"Pajamas?" he muttered, almost completely asleep. "Should I—"

"Shh," Severus interrupted. "I did not mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."

Harry would have liked to ponder this turn of events but he was already asleep.


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N:** Aaaa I accidentally published the unbetaed version! That's what I get for trying to function when I haven't had enough sleep. Here's the _real_ chapter twenty-four, in all of its edited glory.

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

**64**

Thursday was a very, very long day. There was teaching, catching up on everything he'd missed yesterday—including eating enough; once he'd woken up he was starved—and yet, he found most of his time was taken up by thoughts of Friday. He'd been too tired to worry about it yesterday, but he had a date tomorrow. With Severus. Dinner, with Severus. Being taken out to dinner by Severus. How was he supposed to handle that? What was expected of him? Would he need to dress up? He wasn't even sure if he had dress robes that fit. He'd never been on a date at all, let alone one with Severus.

He had said dinner.

What did dinner mean? Obviously it meant a meal in the evening, but did it mean dancing? Did Severus dance? That seemed unlikely. Drinking? They drank together, sure, but not in public. He didn't want to spend their first date drunk. A glass of wine would be fine, but more than that wasn't appetizing. And afterwards? Harry thought Muggle dates usually ended with coffee and maybe a movie followed by sex. Or a goodnight kiss, if they didn't go well. Wizards didn't have movies, and Severus didn't need coffee as an excuse to get him into his rooms because they lived together. Did that mean sex? Harry's stomach fluttered with excitement and nerves.

Speaking of sex, were they now sleeping naked? He had a vague memory of Severus coming to bed in nothing but pants, but he had woken up before Harry, and he wasn't entirely positive if that was real or a dream. He himself had been naked, yes, though more because he'd been too tired to get dressed than anything else. Would Severus be expecting that trend to continue? Did Harry want it to continue? Yes, absolutely, but in an anxious sort of way. He owed Severus a favor as well. Not that either of them thought in terms of owing or counting to ensure equality, but still. Severus had been so incredibly wonderful to him and he wanted to pay him back.

Harry was just finishing up the last of his grading when Severus got back from the Great Hall.

"Skipping dinner two nights in a row?" he asked, arching an eyebrow in disapproval.

"The house elves sent up some raw—something, I don't know, I wasn't paying attention," Harry replied, scrawling an A at the bottom of the parchment and tossing it into the finished pile. "But I ate." He rolled his shoulders, working out any residual stiffness. "Are you done with your work?"

"I am," Severus said, sitting next to Harry, close enough that their legs brushed together. "You sound as though you have an agenda."

Harry smiled, pulling him down for a kiss. "Nothing specific," he replied. "What would _you_ like?"

"Not that I am one to turn down the sort of activity you are suggesting, but I do have an alternate proposal, if you would be so inclined to hear it," Severus said cryptically.

"Sure," Harry replied, a little caught off guard. They hadn't talked so bluntly about their sexual relationship before, not that he had been terribly blunt, and he had expected Severus either to get angry and defensive at the prospect of talking, or take him up on it. It shouldn't come as a surprise that he already had his own plans, but still.

"Given the unseasonable warmth of the day, I thought it might be enjoyable to go out to the Forest," Severus suggested. "After yesterday, I believe you could use a reminder as to the benefits of your condition."

Harry blinked in surprise. "Oh! Um." The thought of changing was enough to make his back twinge in protest, but he thought that was the point, to not get scared away. "Yeah, all right. I need to get permission from Minerva, but—"

"Already granted," Severus interrupted. "I asked on your behalf at dinner."

"Thanks," Harry replied. "And, uh. You wouldn't mind coming with me? Even though I go fast?"

"I would mind if you went too quickly, of course," Severus said in his you're-an-idiot voice. "I assume we can work out a compromise."

"Okay," Harry said, pulling on his sweatshirt. While it would be much faster to change by the front steps and go to the Forest as snakes, it went unspoken that to do so would push at a line that shouldn't be pushed. "I get one long run, though. In the clearing to the east of the centaurs' territory, the really big one? If you don't mind hanging out at one end for a few laps."

"Acceptable," Severus replied, leading them outside. The night was truly beautiful; there was just the hint of sunlight setting to the west, casting long shadows across the grounds that quickly faded into the dark blue of twilight. A light breeze gave a sharp edge to the slight chill in the air, and the clear night made the stars shine like tiny explosions, while the sliver of moon stood out starkly against the black sky. Northern Scotland had no business being so pleasant in spring, but Severus was right to make the most of the night.

_Make the most of the night_.

Harry allowed himself a brief smile. Maybe he would. Then again, if the breeze remained so insistent, undressing would hardly be pleasant.

They had just reached the edge of the Forest and were about to change when a bobbing light appeared through the trees. Severus immediately stepped forward, putting himself between Harry and the Forest, and rested a hand on his wand. Harry realized with a sinking feeling he had left his wand in his room before remembering he had his own defenses, and quickly changed. As soon as he had his snake eyes he could easily see the figure, and he laughed before changing back.

"Hey, Hagrid!" he called, resting a hand on Severus' arm, making sure he didn't draw his wand.

"'Arry, that you?" Hagrid called back. "I was jus' getting back from—oh, Severus, nice to see yeh, too."

"Rubeus," Severus said stiffly. "What were you saying about being in the Forbidden Forest?"

"Yeh know, jus', ah, checkin' on things that need checkin'," Hagrid replied, stepping out of the tree line. "Nothin' important. Yeh two are goin' out as snakes, I imagine?"

"Yeah," Harry said, his cheerfulness sounding forced even to his own ears. There was virtually no way to make this encounter anything other than intensely awkward and uncomfortable, but he could try. "It's such a nice night and all. It was Severus' idea, actually, to take advantage."

"Take advantage, eh?" Hagrid echoed suspiciously. "O' nothin' more than the weather, I hope."

"Probably, it's kind of cold for another sort of advantage," Harry replied, hoping humor would work in his favor and not get him killed. "Besides, tomorrow night—"

"A cold front is coming in, making nightly trips unpleasant," Severus cut in sharply.

"Is it? I asked Pomona o'er dinner, because o' my vegetables, y'know, an' she said it should stay warm through the weekend," Hagrid replied. "Then again, Sybill was predictin' a late season blizzard. Could be she's onto somethin'."

"As long as your vegetables are okay," Harry said lamely. "Anyway, we were going to go out, so…"

"Yeh, o' course, didn' mean to get in yer way," Hagrid replied, quickly stepping to the side. "An' Harry, yeh won' let anythin'—" He glanced at Severus, who looked close to murder. "Well, I'm sure yeh know best. Maybe yeh could stop by sometime this weekend for a spot o' tea, an' I jus' made treacle, fresh from yesterday. If yeh've got any free time," he added with a pointed look at Severus.

"That'd be great," Harry said overly enthusiastically. "See you soon."

"Aye, soon," Hagrid replied. "An' Severus, I'll see yeh around, I'm sure."

"Undoubtedly," Severus said, teeth clenched. He watched with hawk eyes as Hagrid left, muttering "Bumbling oaf" under his breath at the retreating form.

Harry glared at him. "Hagrid's my friend. You might as well get used to it and be civil."

"That was civil," Severus replied, turning back to Harry. "Consider yourself lucky I curtailed myself so well. You can only ask so much of me."

"Be nicer next time," Harry said, then turned into a Basilisk and continued in Parseltongue. "Maybe come to tea sometime."

"And why would I do that?" Severus hissed in his python form, following Harry into the Forest.

"I'm going to have to, y'know, introduce you to my friends," Harry said feeling extraordinarily uncomfortable. "As my, uh. Whatever you are."

"I am well acquainted with your friends," Severus replied, keeping pace next to him. "There is no need for introductions."

"Yeah, but," Harry protested. "It's different now. I thought you said you didn't mind people knowing."

"Do not put words in my mouth," Severus replied irritably. "I said I would tolerate it, nothing more. I am not having _tea_ with Hagrid."

"So you're just going to ignore my friends forever?" Harry asked angrily.

The Forest was nearly quiet at this time of year. No snow to crunch, no leaves to swish over. The few moments of silence were painfully noticeable, especially since Harry had no idea why they were necessary.

"Forever, Potter?" Harry froze, and Severus had nearly passed him completely before realizing he was alone, turning back, and saying. "A slip of the tongue, I assume."

"Yeah," Harry said vaguely. "I mean. We've, um. We're. I don't. Um. Not expecting. Or assuming. I just. Ron, Hermione, Neville, Hagrid, they're all going to be in my life for, er, my life, all of it. And well. After what we've been through, regardless of the type of relationship, I'd expect you would be as well, right?"

"I had not given the notion any thought," Severus replied, and Harry was nearly positive that was a lie. "You have?"

"No," Harry said firmly. "It was more of a figure of speech than anything else. I wasn't thinking. Are you, um, planning on leaving?"

"No," Severus replied crossly. "What on earth would give you that impression?"

"I don't know!" Harry exclaimed. "Look, forget it. I didn't mean anything by it, let's just go. The clearing's coming up soon."

The rest of the distance was covered in the same almost eerie silence as before. As soon as they entered the clearing—which was really more of a field—Harry took off, streaking through the grass, loving the whispering of the blades as he parted them, the feel of the soft soil beneath him, the almost palpable light from the stars and moon. The field was maybe half a kilometer, quite big for being in the middle of a dense forest, and it gave him time to think that he'd rather not have.

He hadn't meant anything, right? It just slipped out. His friends _were_ forever, he was just thinking in terms of them. It had nothing to do with Severus. Once he'd brought it up, of course Harry thought he'd be in his life forever, but he hadn't been thinking romantically. He'd loved him before he realized he was in love with him, he'd needed him before he realized he needed him like that, he'd known their lives were twined together for a very long time, probably since they first met. At the very least, since the end of sixth year. He wasn't about going to let the person who killed Dumbledore leave, and when he found out why, that only sealed the connection.

Now? Their relationship might move at a sloth-like pace, but it didn't go backwards. Did that mean anything? Severus was known for being volatile, and he certainly would never talk about anything even remotely related to the subject, but he didn't go backwards, and he didn't back down. Harry didn't like to think about it for obvious reasons, but Severus had loved his mum for decades. Not necessarily related, but maybe not completely unconnected.

What would forever with Severus even mean, assuming they continued their relationship as it was? Eventually they'd officially come out, but Harry thought that would happen anyway, and most likely soon. The sex would escalate to actual sex, though again, it probably would as things were. They already lived together. There certainly wouldn't be a conversation. Things would just go on.

But forever?

Harry reached the edge of the clearing and turned around. He could pick out Severus at the other end back in his human form, sitting against a tree with his eyes closed. He was always more comfortable in his human form, especially when he was at rest like this. Harry was more than happy to coil around himself and curl up as a serpent, but he could understand why that would feel strange to somebody who didn't have it in their blood.

This wasn't the best time to notice, but Severus looked beautiful. The starlight was gentle on his strong features, smoothing out the sharp angles. He was relaxed, a sight so rare Harry could probably count the number of times he'd seen it on one hand. No frown lines, no tensed muscles, and while he wasn't smiling, he wasn't actively frowning, either. He wore the same clothes he always did but now that Harry knew what he looked like beneath them, it was different. Not so much imposing as tempting, like each button was a tease, each layer promising what lay beneath it. Graceful hands were folded in his lap, long fingers twined together.

Heart racing, Harry sped back, the joy of moving so quickly replaced with a need to be near Severus.

"Out of energy already?" Severus asked dryly, eyes still closed, as Harry came to rest in front of him.

"It's a big field," Harry replied before changing back to a human.

That caught Severus' attention, and he opened his eyes. "Since when do you choose to spend time as a human in the Forest?"

"Since you do," Harry replied honestly, sitting next to him and taking one of his hands.

Severus groaned. "Do not tell me you are feeling sentimental. There is no holiday to excuse such behavior, and I would not have suggested coming out if I had known I was to be subjected to an abundance of emotion."

Harry smiled, leaning against Severus. "No. Just sitting."

"And how long to you intend to hold us hostage with nothing other than rough tree bark to lean against?" Severus asked acerbically.

"Sev, shut up," Harry said lightly. "It's beautiful out. Enjoy it."

"Don't call me that," Severus grumbled. "The weather is supposed to remain warm and sunny throughout the weekend. Are we skipping classes tomorrow and returning to the castle only when the temperature drops Sunday evening?"

"What about that cold front?" Harry asked innocently.

"Impertinent brat," Severus replied. "Having people know we are—this is bad enough. Our dinner plans are nobody's business but ours, and if I choose to take advantage, that is most certainly between us."

Harry's stomach flipped excitedly. "If?" he asked, voice unnaturally high. "If you don't, I will. In fact, tonight might not be such a bad idea after all. The stars—"

Severus jerked his hand back, jaw tightening. "I knew it. Why must you be so overly saccharine when you know I despise such comments? The relative brightness of celestial balls of burning gas hundreds of thousands of kilometers away has no bearing on who may or may not be taking advantage of whom."

And to think Harry was marveling at his tranquility a few minutes ago. "I'm sorry for acting like I'm in a relationship," he replied huffily. "Heaven forbid I use words to express myself. I'll just treat you like I'm your student again and we hate each other, I'm sure that's what you'd rather."

"Harry—" Severus broke off, visibly gathering himself. "Just keep it to the temporal, would you?"

"Is there anything I need to know about tomorrow night?" Harry asked. It wasn't that talking about their date was any less awkward, but at least it was actually happening, and Severus started it by asking him. "Like what to wear or something?"

"A suit would be preferable but not required," Severus replied, sounding uncomfortable but at least not angry. "Be ready to leave at five-thirty. We will apparate from Hogsmeade."

Harry glanced at him, curious. "Muggle clothes?"

"Unless you wish to look entirely idiotic, I would say so," Severus replied.

"And, um, apparating?" Harry continued, officially confused.

Severus rolled his eyes. "The magical means of teleporting from one location to another. Surely you have heard of it."

Harry ignored the insult. "Where are we going?"

"Have we not spoken of patience?" Severus asked sarcastically. "You will find out tomorrow."

"Okay, okay, sorry," Harry replied with a smile, once again resting his head on Severus' shoulder. Wherever they were going, it was certainly going to be an adventure. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't surprised at all that Severus had chosen a Muggle restaurant far away. If he intended on keeping their date private it would be the only choice; the _Prophet_ would jump at the chance for an exclusive on the suddenly gay Savior of the Wizarding World out on a date with a reformed Death Eater. Harry would like to come out, and he'd already owled Ron and Hermione about the date, but starting off with a few friends and colleagues was definitely better than the papers.

"Rough tree bark aside, I do not find this an advantageous place to spend our evening," Severus said, shifting slightly. "Not as humans, not when the Forest is populated so—unpredictably."

Harry grinned. "Yeah, I here there's a Basilisk somewhere around here."

Severus gave him what was obviously supposed to be an annoyed glare but was clearly ill-disguised humor. "And if one were to show up, we would be woefully unprepared to defend ourselves. If you wish to race around as a snake that is one thing, but if you just want to sit with me, there are far more comfortable places to do so, and without the threat of imminent death by Basilisk."

"You changed back first," Harry replied, heart starting to speed up. Was just sitting with Severus an option? Of course they had times when they weren't doing anything and relaxed together, but finding a specific place well suited to sitting together in a cuddling, holding hands sort of way, that was different. He decided to continue with teasing, because that way he could at least pretend he was joking. "I know I'm not allowed to mention the stars, but the lighting at this particular moment, when viewed from the very temporal earth, when combined with the physical temperature of the air that we're feeling with our very temporal bodies, that could be considered an advantageous time for two people who are romantically linked to enjoy themselves."

Severus raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips twitching against a smile. "I assume that was meant for my benefit?"

"It was better than saying it's warm out and the stars are bright and you're my whatever you are, right?" Harry asked, thrumming with excitement and potential. "I know they were still words, but I promise I tried to make them as pragmatic as possible."

Severus kissed him, and the lights from the stars faded away to nothing. Sparks cascaded through Harry's body, his heartbeat picked up, and he tangled his fingers in Severus' hair, pulling him closer. Severus could think whatever he wanted; the stars and the moon in a clearing in the middle of the Forbidden Forest were romantic, and he got Severus to kiss him by talking about it. If he weren't so busy being kissed so thoroughly, he would have been incredibly proud of himself. Severus pulled away much too quickly. Harry whimpered, trying to hold them together, but he was given an amused smile and pushed away.

"Not in the forest," he said. "This is neither the time nor the place. You have not had much time to be out as a Basilisk for quite a while. I would expect you to take advantage."

"I am taking advantage," Harry replied, sliding onto his lap, kissing him gently as he firmly established his position. Severus let out a quiet sigh and his hands rested on Harry's hips. "I'll change back after," he said, kissing down Severus' neck. "You were so wonderful yesterday, I need to make it up to you."

"In the—mm, stop—middle of the woods?" Severus asked, tightening his grip and stilling Harry's hips.

"You suggested coming out," Harry replied, scooting backwards just enough so he could reach Severus' zip. "I was perfectly content to stay in."

"So it is—" A strangled breath as Harry slipped his hand beneath his pants. "—my fault I will have all manner of ungodly—_uhh, yes_—in unpleasant places?" Severus asked.

"Absolutely," Harry replied, and that was the end of the conversation.

**65**

Harry was waiting anxiously outside the greenhouses when Neville's last class of the day got out. Directly outside the second greenhouse, in fact, close enough to the door that the first two students out slammed into him, covering him in mud. They squeaked in surprise and quickly ran off, while Neville dragged Harry into the building and out of the way of the rest of his class.

"Can I help you with something, or are you just here to terrify the first years?" Neville asked. "Picking up some habits from Snape?"

"No," Harry replied irritably, wiping dirt off the front of his robes from the collision. "I need help. How do you go on dates?"

Neville stared at him. "What on earth makes you think I'd be the person to ask about that?" he asked, a little angrily. "I'm happy things are going so well for you and all, but the last girl I took out was Ginny to the Yule Ball, and the last boy I've been with was never."

Harry's expression fell. "Oh, right. Neville, I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinking at all. Never mind, I'll go Floo call Hermione, or—"

Neville let out an exasperated sigh. "Stop, it's fine, I know you didn't mean anything by it. And believe me, I'd rather be on my own than dating Snape."

Harry felt that was deserved. "Right, so, I, um, do have a date with Severus—tonight, in fact, in an hour and a half, so…"

Neville stared at him. "Tonight? Why didn't you tell me?"

"He only asked on Wednesday, after the Healers were here," Harry replied. "Then I was busy yesterday catching up on everything I missed on Wednesday, and now I'm here."

Neville sighed again. "Now I've got to ask you questions I really don't want to know the answer to. Is this your first date?"

"Yeah, of course, otherwise I wouldn't be freaking out," Harry said, wandering over to a nearby flowering plant so he didn't have to look at his friend.

"But you've been—what exactly are you again?" Neville asked.

"Haven't a clue," Harry replied, plucking a leaf and starting to shred it nervously.

Neville smacked his hand. "Stop it. Don't hurt my plants. I know you've, um—Merlin I hate you, I know you've kissed, but beyond that? In terms of what might happen after? I assume you're more concerned with that than an actual date. You two eat together all the time."

"We've, um—haven't, I mean, haven't done that, but, uh…" Harry trailed off. "Thanks, Neville, you've just given me something new to worry about. I _was_ worried about the date, thank you very much. And if eating together in the Great Hall is considered a date, you and I both are involved in a giant polyamorous love fest with the entire staff, and I can absolutely promise you that's not the case."

Neville laughed. "Point taken, but I'm pretty sure you know how to hold a conversation with the man, including over a meal. What's so different about a date?"

"I have no idea, that's the problem," Harry replied. "Also we're going to a Muggle restaurant. A _fancy_ Muggle restaurant. I've never been to a fancy restaurant at all, let alone existed in the Muggle world outside of a cupboard. How're you supposed to do that?"

Neville shrugged. "Gran and I pretty much stay in the wizarding community, but I don't imagine it's much different. Don't get into a shouting match over Quidditch, don't mention that you're both potioneers, the obvious. Dress well, I guess? Use the right forks?"

"I don't know anything about the right forks!" Harry exclaimed.

"Start on the outside and work your way in," Neville replied. "Just follow his lead, yeah? If you're absolutely lost, ask him. It'll stroke his ego, and he loves that."

"I suppose," Harry said dubiously. "I've already transfigured my best robes into a suit for the night, but—I don't know, isn't there something I should do?"

"Like what?" Neville asked, truly baffled. "You're being taken out on a date, you haven't got to do anything. He does it all, whatever 'it' is. Where did you say you're going again?"

Harry shrugged. "He wouldn't tell me. We're apparating out from Hogsmeade."

"Then you've definitely got nothing to worry about," Neville said. "He clearly wants to be in charge, so just let him. Personally, I've got no idea why you'd give him a position of power over you at all, but—oh, Merlin, don't answer that, it came out all wrong."

Harry burst into laughter, and after a moment Neville joined him. Eventually, as the giggling died down, Harry asked, "So I probably shouldn't ask you about having sex with a guy for the first time either, eh?"

Neville stared at him, then grabbed a handful of dirt and chucked it at him. "No! Especially not with—ugh! Just no!"

Harry reached behind himself to grab his own pile of dirt. In the process he inadvertently grabbed a root as well, of the very plant Neville had already told him not to abuse, and accidentally threw the whole plant at him, pot and all. Neville ducked just in time, causing the pot to shatter against the wall and fall in a heap of terracotta shards, dirt, and plant onto the ground. Neville stared at him, horrified, and Harry immediately started apologizing. Then he found himself spitting out the dirt that Neville had thrown into his face, and that started a full-on dirt fight throughout greenhouse two.

It stopped abruptly when Pomona came in and was greeted by a handful of dragon dung fertilizer flung at her. After that, a very quiet and contrite Harry and Neville spent the next great while cleaning up, leaving Harry with a half hour to sprint up to the castle, shower, and change. He also succeeded in tracking mud throughout his rooms, and pounding frantically on the closed bathroom door, leaving a dirty handprint in his wake.

"Severus, I need the shower now, please get out, if we're going to be on time I really need—" Harry cut himself off as the door opened and Severus gaped at him, his hand, the dirt on the door, and the trail of mud Harry had left behind himself. More calmly, Harry said, "I need to take a shower."

"So I see," Severus replied tightly, carefully stepping out of the way to avoid any dirt. He was still wearing his teaching robes, Harry was grateful to see. If there was even the possibility of getting dress clothes dirty, Harry no doubt would have been skinned alive. "Dare I ask what caused you to enter in such a state?"

"Dirt fight with Neville," Harry replied, quickly going into the bathroom and closing the door. He paused. "It wasn't as stupid as it sounds!"

"Highly improbable," Severus remarked. "Hurry up, I do not wish to be late."

"I'll clean up the mess later," Harry called out as he turned the shower on, mindful of the mess he was creating by leaving his clothes on the floor. "Tonight or tomorrow, I promise."

"It has already been taken care of," Severus replied. "Do not take that as a sign you are permitted to turn our quarters into a sty again, do you understand me?"

"Yes, I'm sorry, and thank you," Harry said, stepping into the shower. He washed himself as quickly as possible, cleaned the rest of the bathroom with a spell before stepping onto the dirty floor (he was proud of himself for remembering such a thing), spelled himself dry and his hair into some approximation of reasonable, wrapped himself in a towel, stepped out of the bathroom, and promptly tripped over his feet, nearly falling over completely.

Severus arched an eyebrow, adjusting his tie. "Can I help you?"

Harry had no idea; he'd lost all capacity of higher thought. Apparently he had never seen Severus in a suit before. He looked formidable and dangerous in his teaching robes, almost but not quite relaxed in the white button down and black slacks he wore in his quarters, sexy as hell in the black silk pajamas Harry had grown to love instead of hate, and sensual perfection out of them, but this? Dressed up in a suit?

Fucking ambrosia.

"Whatever you are thinking, stop," Severus said. His voice washed over Harry like the lower register of a Stradivari cello, weakening his knees and sending shivers up and down his spine. "You hardly have enough time to dress as it is, do not complicate the matter with ideas you do not have time to fulfill."

Harry forcibly pulled himself out of his thoughts and looked away so the temptation was no longer there. Merlin, he was supposed to make it through dinner when Severus looked like that? Was that even possible? And how was he going to compare in his poorly transfigured wreck? He wasn't, that was how. Severus was going to be embarrassed to be seen with him; never mind the Muggle restaurant, they still had to walk through Hogwarts and into Hogsmeade before they could apparate away from those who knew them. Harry was going to be the laughing stock of the school, and suddenly everyone else was going to see exactly what he saw in Severus, and no doubt when given the option for someone who was capable of performing simple tasks like _wearing clothing_, Severus would leave him and he'd be back rooming with Neville, who no doubt looked ridiculous in a suit.

"Harry," Severus said sharply. "Get dressed."

"Right, sorry," Harry muttered, slipping into the bedroom and closing the door. He dressed quickly then stood before the mirror, tugging and pulling and trying to get everything to sit right, which it clearly wasn't going to do. These had been his best robes, too, and now they couldn't be worn.

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked fine. Not fantastic, not like Severus, but acceptable. Presentable, even. He needed to stop panicking and remember what Neville said: this was just another dinner with Severus, they ate together all the time, and the fact that they were doing it outside of Hogwarts didn't inherently change anything. Harry picked up his tie from the bed, draped it around his neck, and promptly resumed panicking.

"Severus?" he called nervously, fiddling with the tie, pulling it this way and that, trying to see if anything seemed even remotely familiar. He hadn't tied a tie since his days as a student, and apparently he'd lost the knowledge. "Sev?" Louder and more panicky. He used to do this every day, how had he forgotten?

The door opened. "What? And do not call me that, I've told you a thousand times."

Harry turned to him, feeling utterly hopeless. "I don't—er." He flapped the ends of the tie, blushing terribly, absolutely mortified, one hundred percent convinced he was going to be laughed at, humiliated, and possibly uninvited to dinner.

Instead, Severus—handsome, perfect, ambrosia Severus—smiled and walked over to him.

"First, you have it on backwards," he said, taking the tie off and turning it around so the long end was on the left and half the length as the other side. As soon as it was in the right starting position it all came flooding back, but Severus turned Harry and leaned around him, enfolding him into his embrace, and Harry decided not to say anything. His eyes closed as he took a deep, steadying breath, completely ignoring what Severus was doing in exchange for leaning against him, breathing in sandalwood, and listening to the deep rumble of his voice. He felt when Severus tightened the knot only because his fingers brushed his chin, and then his neck as he turned down his collar, and was vaguely aware of his jacket being buttoned before Severus' hands were on his upper arms and he pressed a light kiss to his temple.

"Ready to go?" Severus asked quietly.

Harry, who would have been quite content to stay exactly where he was for the rest of the night, nodded and turned. He linked his hands behind Severus' neck and pulled him down for a quick kiss that would have turned into something much less quick had Severus not gently pushed him away.

"You look…" But there weren't words, and even if there were, Severus hated words. He trailed his hands down Severus' chest before dropping them. "Yeah, let's go."

Severus took his arm, once again surprising Harry, and they left.


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N:** I'm sorry this is up so late. Life is impossibly difficult.

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

**66**

They got a lot of looks as they walked through the castle. Lessons were out for the day, it was starting to be time for an early dinner, and the good weather from yesterday held, creating a general festive and mobile air. Harry glanced at Severus for guidance; he proceeded as if nothing was out of the ordinary, and Harry followed his lead.

As soon as they were out of the castle and on the grounds, Harry said, "So I think people know."

Severus raised an eyebrow, looking amused. "I believe we have been over this several times by now. Has it suddenly become news?"

"Well, no, but—a little?" Harry stammered. "I thought you said the date was only our business."

"And it is," Severus replied. "That does not change the geography of the castle to allow a door from our quarters leading directly outside. Even so, I see no reason why it should come as a surprise to anyone that you and I have plans for Friday evening."

All of this seemed very contradictory compared to everything else Severus had ever done, especially after last night with Hagrid, but he let it go. He supposed Severus preferred the unspoken implication of passing by most of the school to outright announcing they were on a date. Once again Harry thought that they would be forced to make a verbal declaration of some sort sooner rather than later, but he could wait. Being by Severus' side like this, having his arm taken as he was led towards wherever they were going, that's what mattered. The kiss they had shared earlier, how Severus had tied his tie without a single derogatory comment, how Harry thought he might be floating instead of walking; that's what mattered. Looks in the hallways were irrelevant.

"So do I get to know where we're going yet?" Harry asked as they passed into Hogsmeade.

"_Parles-tu français bien_?" Severus asked with a hint of a smile.

Harry stared at him. "We're going to France?"

"_Oui_," Severus replied, then continued in French, all of which flew over Harry's head.

"Er," Harry said, feeling very uncultured. He didn't own a suit, he couldn't remember how to tie a tie, and now he didn't speak the language. "If there was a bit about asking if I speak French, the answer is no."

"Then it is fortunate you have me to translate, _n'est pas_?" Severus replied, sounding only a little contemptuous. "_Allons-y, mon cher_."

Harry was almost positive that was a term of endearment, but before he could remember what it meant or work up the courage to ask, Severus tightened his hold on Harry's arm and they apparated away.

After ascertaining his feet were planted firmly on the ground, Harry opened his eyes and looked around. They were in the middle of a park, standing beneath but by no means hidden by a grouping of trees. Harry looked around in shocked fear, waiting for someone to start screaming about the two men appearing out of nowhere, but the Muggles walking by didn't look at them in the slightest.

"Severus?" Harry asked nervously.

"A weak Disillusionment charm," Severus replied. "You did not expect a dank, dirty alley, did you? This is Paris; there is no such thing."

That, in fact, was exactly what he had been expecting. He took a better look around. The trees above and behind them were huge, towering over the square park and offering a feel of shaded seclusion, despite all the people walking by. Four large walkways branched out from the circle surrounding the trees leading to breaks in the squared off, smaller topiary lining the park. Those trees were still significantly taller even than Severus, lending the trees behind them majesty. Four smaller pathways cut through the grass and led to merrily bubbling fountains. Old-fashioned lanterns hung from lampposts along the walkways, and benches were evenly distributed. Townhouses lined the streets outside, and while Harry couldn't date them, it was clear they were very old. People—mostly couples, Harry noted—were everywhere, though they seemed more decorative than densely populated. The benches, the edges of the fountains, and the grass were all adorned with sophisticated Parisians.

Severus fit in very well here, with his perfectly tailored suit and his fluent French and his ambrosia. Harry felt awkward and uncomfortable, as if there had been a mistake and he'd wandered into the wrong city. It wasn't much different from when he found himself in Knockturn Alley all those years ago, only backwards.

"Do you not enjoy the locale?" Severus asked, surprised and, Harry was nearly positive, unsure. "Henri IV personally commissioned the _Place des Vosges_, and it is the oldest planned square in Paris. Of course much has changed in the intervening centuries, but it is still considered to be amongst the finest in the city."

Of course it was.

"No, it's beautiful," Harry replied quickly. "Really. I'm just—I've never been to Paris. I wasn't expecting something so—" A word, any word, he needed a word right away. "—grandiose." Did that make any sense at all? He'd never used it before, and had only a vague idea of what it meant. Given how Severus pulled away just slightly and how the muscle in his jaw worked, it didn't have the desired effect. "I'm sorry, I just meant—it's lovely. A bit imposing, that's all."

This time the disdain wasn't masked in the slightest. "I should have known you would not feel comfortable anywhere finer than a fish and chips pub."

Harry jerked his arm free and glared at him. "You didn't tell me where we were going," he said. "I didn't know what to expect, but no, a court designed by a king three centuries ago—"

"Four," Severus interrupted. "And we are in a square, not a court."

"That's beyond not my point!" Harry exclaimed. "I've been to more pubs than _squares_. I'm not saying I don't like it, I'm just surprised, and I don't know what to think!"

"Clearly," Severus sneered. "Shall we dine at the Three Broomsticks? Perhaps the Hogshead?"

Harry felt like crying. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Their first date should have been perfect; romantic and rare, like nothing he'd ever had before, or would have in the future. Instead they were fighting, like always, only he couldn't blame Severus in the slightest. Severus had given him romantic, possibly the most romantic place in the most romantic city in Europe, and he had the gall to complain?

Wait, no, he hadn't complained. Severus had just made him feel inadequate, as always.

That was wrong, too. Severus didn't do that, not any more. He had brought Harry to this beautiful place, gone way out on a limb Harry never would have suspected, and he was ungrateful.

Merlin, he couldn't get anything right. He wasn't ungrateful, just—

_Overwhelmed._

Yes, exactly that. Overwhelmed. Severus in all his ambrosia glory, taking his arm as he led him through the castle past the students and staff, apparating him to the oldest whatever in Paris, and taking him to what would unquestionably be one of the finest restaurants in the city. It would be overwhelming coming from anyone, but from Severus? That was roughly on par with—with—suddenly transforming into a Basilisk.

Harry burst into partially hysterical laughter that was mostly relief. Severus was looking at him as though he'd gone mental, which only made him laugh harder. He supposed being so overwhelmed was a form of madness, though if that was true, he certainly didn't want to regain his sanity anytime soon. He pulled Severus in for a kiss, trading in foolishness for the romance he should have jumped on in the first place. It took a moment for Severus to respond, to return the kiss and rest his hands on Harry's hips, but he did, and when Harry eventually broke away, he didn't look angry anymore, just confused.

"I'm sorry," Harry said firmly, hands still on Severus' face, thumb gently rubbing circles along his jawline. "This is perfect. I didn't think—"

"That a man such as myself was capable of a grand gesture?" Severus broke in. "I told you months ago, Harry. Do not assume I don't 'do' dates, in your inelegant parlance. I 'do' them very well; you are the one failing to hold up your end of the night." But the words were affectionate, mostly, and Harry relaxed into his embrace.

"I know, I'm sorry," he said again. "You're right, I'm not used to this, but promise me you won't stop. Take me to Paris, to Henri's gardens, and to whatever else you have planned."

Severus kissed the top of his head before releasing him, twining their fingers together in exchange of a hug. "Shall we proceed, then?" he asked. "Our reservations are for seven, and it would serve us well to be early."

Harry frowned slightly, but he followed Severus down one of the walkways. "Isn't it quarter of six?"

Severus let out an undignified snort, no doubt due to repressed laughter. "Paris and Scotland are not in the same time zone. Would it be so difficult to think before you spout such idiocy?"

"Only as difficult as it would be for you to not sound like a pompous prat," Harry replied with a smile.

"Then we have reached an impossible impasse," Severus said, squeezing his hand. They crossed the street, into the arcade and halfway down the block to a green door that Severus held open for him. _L'Ambroisie_ was painted above the door in gold, and Harry had to suppress another round of laughter. Ambrosia indeed. The floor was marbled tile, but before he had a chance to form any further impressions, a tall, large man appeared before them and said something in French. Harry couldn't help stepping back slightly as Severus answered. They engaged in a brief conversation, and then were led into a small dining room.

Harry couldn't stop looking around. The walls were covered in beautiful Renaissance paintings, the chandelier was huge, gold, and ornate, the chairs plush and antique, and each table had a small bouquet of roses grouped in the middle. The maître d' held out Harry's chair for him and he sat, still looking around in awe. Severus exchanged a few more words with the heavyset man before turning to Harry.

"Do the names Duke of Chaulnes or François-Joseph Graf mean anything to you?" Severus asked.

"No," Harry replied, finally looking at him. "Is that all right?"

Severus gave him an indulgent smile. "Only if you wish to be robbed of the history all around us."

"Would you like to tell me?" Harry asked. The least he could do after their fight was let Severus lecture him, and if he paid more attention to his voice than the words, that was nobody's business but his own.

"Only if you would appreciate it, which you would not," Severus reiterated. "Know that we are in a historical monument that would delight anyone with any sense of culture whatsoever."

"Are you sure you know about dates?" Harry asked, smiling slightly.

"My past companions have been of a different caliber," Severus replied. "Not better, merely more educated, refined, and erudite than you."

"You've made your point," Harry said, merriment dropping away.

"Yet again, you have failed to listen and thus misunderstood," Severus said. "Not better than you, Harry. I prefer your company to that of anyone with which I have previously been involved."

Something warm and wonderful radiated through Harry. "Even though I'm an idiot?" he asked.

"You are far from," Severus replied, at which point Harry nearly died of shock. He was about to ask for clarification—demand it, if he needed to—when the wine arrived. More French he didn't understand, and then they were each poured a glass. "I may not expect you to understand the vintage, but you will not hesitate to tell me I am, again in your words, a 'pompous prat' for going on about it."

Harry stared at him. "You—"

"I am still prepared to cut off all conversation if you become overly verbose," Severus interrupted. "Enjoy the wine, even if you do not understand why."

Harry took a small sip. It was delicious. "You forget I'm your apprentice," he said. "I don't know the name of the wine, but I can tell it's been aged for roughly two years, the bottle sixty years or so, and the vines were maybe fifty years old when the grapes were picked."

Severus raised his eyebrows. "That is very impressive."

Harry grinned. There was no higher compliment. "It's basically a potion. A very tasty potion, but still just a potion. I've already learned once this year the importance of aging and preserving ingredients; I better be able to tell by taste."

"Still, your specifics are striking," Severus said. "You are drinking a fifty-seven year old bottle of Pétrus. The vines are nearly all over forty-five years old, and the average aging time is two years. Were you one who joined wine clubs, you would be quite the prodigy."

Harry wouldn't be surprised if he was physically glowing. "I take it all back. You're brilliant at dates."

Severus smirked. "I am aware. That does not diminish your skill."

A waiter appeared with two plates, explaining the food in detailed French as it was placed in front of them. Harry waited until he was no longer in earshot before asking, "We ordered?"

"The chef's menu, Harry," Severus said, the indulgent smile returning. "You do not order. Would you like to know what you are about to eat?"

Harry looked at his plate. It was divided into five small sections, each with no more than three or four bites of food. Small bites. There were slices of eggs floating in something, shrimp or maybe prawns, he'd never been able to tell the difference, a soup of some sort, and two things he didn't recognize at all. "Yes, please."

Severus talked him through the first course. Then the second, the third, the cheeses, and finally dessert. Listening to his voice was the perfect accompaniment to the meal, better than the wine (though that continued to be fantastic, and Severus continued to explain why). There were no more compliments that threatened Harry's life, which was probably good for his heart and his sanity. Insults were mostly mild, but they reaffirmed that this was, in fact, Severus, and not someone doing a particularly poor impersonation. When the check came Severus wouldn't let him see it, but the number of bills he slipped into the folder was daunting.

When they left Severus took his hand again, lacing their fingers together. They started walking away from the square, and Harry gave him an inquisitive look.

"You will see," Severus replied with a smile. "Enjoy your walk through Paris. I will restrain myself from imparting the details, but we are in a very old, historic district, and there is much to see."

It was full dark but the lantern-esque streetlights cast enough light to see the cobbled streets and centuries old townhouses without ruining the romance. Harry could still barely believe this was happening, but Severus' warm hand in his, the pleasant fullness, and the lingering taste of chocolate assured him it was. After ten minutes or so they arrived at the Rhine, continuing their walk along the river. Apparently couples really did go for starlight walks along the Rhine on Friday nights. What's more, apparently Harry and _Severus_ were that sort of couple. They crossed over the river after several blocks, and Harry was so lost in Severus he didn't see what was right in front of him until Severus specifically instructed him to look.

Notre Dame stood before them. It was illuminated in a way that made the stones glow golden. Each level had its own row of lights, the medallion in the center radiated, and the insides of the tower windows cast into shadow. Harry stared, shocked into silence and immobility. Severus led them towards the cathedral, bypassing the people—again, mostly couples—along the grassy pavilion. It briefly occurred to Harry again that _they_ were one of the couples basking in the light of Notre Dame on a Friday night, but the majesty of the building stole all other thoughts.

Severus guided them around the side, and Harry assumed they were going to circle the building. Instead, a woman wearing a security uniform stepped out of the shadows, and Harry was shocked to see Severus smile at her before they started speaking in French. Harry heard his name, saw the look of awe and the flick of her eyes to his forehead, and flushed. He would never get used to the stares. After several minutes of conversation much more animated than he was used to hearing from Severus, they followed her over to a door, which she unlocked and held open for them.

"Enjoy your night," she said, winking at Harry as Severus led him inside. As soon as the door closed, Harry stopped, tightening his grip on Severus' hand and holding him in place.

"Who was that?" he asked. "What are we doing here?"

"Not so loudly," Severus said quietly. "Juliet Laurent, a former student of mine."

"Why would a wizard be working security here?" Harry asked, feeling oddly defensive.

"To gain experience for a specialty in historical potions," Severus replied, starting to sound suspicious. "I would think that obvious."

"But—" Harry was having trouble articulating himself.

Severus smiled suddenly. "Harry, are you jealous?"

"No," Harry said defensively. He paused. "Maybe. You smiled. You never smile."

Severus kissed him firmly. "In case you had not noticed, I am not interested in women," he said, attempting disdain and failing miserably. "Come; the cathedral closed hours ago, and we are not allowed here. Follow me."

They started up a long staircase, and it took Harry a stupidly long time to realize they were climbing up one of the towers. He tightened his grip on Severus' hand until he was so out of breath he needed to conserve energy any way he could. The staircase seemed to go on forever, and by the time they reached the platform at the top, Harry was pitifully aware of how pathetic he was. Severus hadn't taken a single deep breath, and Harry could barely breathe. Severus waited for him with a smirk, then led him over to a door. He kissed Harry again, more thoroughly this time, and Harry once again lost control of his breathing.

"I love you," Severus said softly.

Harry stared at him. "Are you—Polyjuice?"

Severus glared. "In the very same sentence regarding the 'doing' of dates, we discussed the 'doing' of heartfelt confessions, did we not?"

"Yeah, but…"

"Just shut up," Severus said, and opened the door.

Paris was spread out before them. The Eiffel Tower glowed in the distance, but the entire city sparkled. Harry walked over to the edge of the balcony, Severus by his side and resting a hand on his back. Harry leaned against him, trying desperately to convince himself this was real. The view alone took his breath away. A date with Severus, any date, was unbelievable. Severus having a friend pushed the realm of possibility, let alone one in Muggle Paris. A heartfelt declaration was enough to firmly cement the night as a dream, or possibly the result of being hit very hard on the head, maybe even that he had died and this was his afterlife.

"Severus?" Harry said.

"Yes?"

Harry fumbled for the right words. "Would you, um, insult me?"

Severus turned to him, confusion and disbelief spread over his face. "Excuse me?"

"Well, it's just that this is so…" Harry gestured at the view. "And dinner, and the square, it's all—and what you said, I just—please?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "You are an idiot," he stated. "Completely and utterly daft, beyond all hope of improvement. If you truly cannot tell what is real, the night will end on a cot in St. Mungo's rather than our bed. Given the sudden increase in your proclivity to concoct utter nonsense, I feel I must ask: would you _prefer_ the hospital?"

"No," Harry muttered, properly chagrined and feeling better for it.

"There is a Muggle quote that states madness is doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result," Severus continued. "As such, I feel the need to point out that perhaps I am the one who has gone insane. How else would I still expect you to listen to me? I am forced to continually repeat myself in the hopes you will one day learn that I mean what I say. You cannot assume how I would treat someone on a date until you have had the experience yourself. I have become hopelessly repetitive for your behalf, and it is endlessly tiresome. Not only am I speaking far more than I wish to, I must remind you again and again that such words are irrelevant. I have spread the city out before you; consider that action and intent enough."

That was more like it. Still, Harry felt the need to provoke him just a little bit farther. "The intent being…?"

Severus groaned. "Potter, shut up." He turned Harry to face the view again. "Look. Don't talk."

The use of his last name grounded him, and Harry once again let himself enjoy the view. Yes, Severus wrapped an arm around his waist and yes, Harry used that as an excuse to lean against him, but was that really so different from cuddling on the couch at home? Of course being in one of the towers of Notre Dame overlooking Paris was hardly equivalent to their quarters, but their physical position was the same.

Harry didn't know how long they stayed like that, nestled together and taking in the view and each other, but when a particularly strong breeze caused Harry to shiver, Severus decided it was time to go. They stepped back into the shadows of the cathedral and apparated back to Hogsmeade, and the walk from the gates of Hogwarts to their bedroom was one of the longest Harry had ever experienced. With each step his heart beat faster, his stomach flipped over and over, and anticipation pooled in his groin. Nerves kept him from becoming too excited, and when they finally reached their destination, Harry was unable to control his trembling.

Severus tilted his head up so their eyes met, looking for something, Harry didn't know what. After a few moments he said, "I do not expect—"

"Please," Harry interrupted. "Please, I want to." He paused. "If—if you do?"

Annoyance flashed across Severus' face before being replaced with intensity. "Is this yet another litmus test to prove I am who I say I am, or are you really so stupid?"

Harry fidgeted. "Er, stupid, I guess."

Severus shook his head slightly, the corners of his lips twitching up. "My mistake; the answer was obvious. You are certain this is what you desire?"

Harry pressed his lips against Severus'. "More than anything." Realizing he hadn't said it before, he added, "I love you." He stopped himself at three words, knowing he could go on, thinking how easy it would be to ramble about how much, how he always would, how this night was amazing, how _Severus_ was amazing and anything he did was just an added bonus. That would count as talking, and words wouldn't win him any favors.

Severus tangled one hand in Harry's hair, the other going to his lower back and pulling him closer. Harry's eyes slipped shut and a small whimper escaped when he felt hardness pressing against him but he held himself still, waiting for Severus' signal. The silence spun out, and when he finally did speak, the finality and sureness of just one word was enough to undo Harry completely.

"Now."


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N:** Okay guys, you know the drill! Well, some of you do. In any case, here's how it goes:

This chapter contains **sexytimes between two consenting, of-age men**. It's graphic enough that I have chosen to publish that section on Google Docs, and give you the link to get there. If you do not want to read the graphic parts, continue with the story below, and you won't miss a thing.

**Follow these instructions to get to the Google Doc:**

Clear your address bar.

Copy and paste this into your address bar: bit DOT ly SLASH Y7kx6Y

Remove the DOT and replace it with a period.

Remove the SLASH and replace it with a forward slash.

Hit enter.

I have quadruple checked that this works. If you are having a problem, please PM me with your email address or email me directly at quixoticvignette AT gmail DOT com and I will send you the document containing the slash. Please don't leave a review saying it doesn't work; I'll just have to PM you myself, and the whole process will take longer. If you leave an anonymous review with no way for me to contact you, I cannot send you the chapter.

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

**68**

They were late for breakfast, and Harry was rather grateful that Neville had already left. He was going to tell him, of course, as well as Ron and Hermione, but having some protein and coffee first couldn't hurt. Besides, Severus was holding his hand beneath the table, and Harry kept squirming in his seat, and he wasn't sure he could carry on a conversation at this particular moment.

Which was why when Minerva asked them to accompany her to her office as they finished eating, Harry was less than pleased. The walk to her office was silent, and it wasn't until the three were sitting at her desk did she speak.

"The time has come to stop dancing around this and have a real conversation," Minerva said bluntly. "There is no reason for you not to have a relationship, but certain ground rules must be set, rules you have not been following on your own."

Harry glanced at Severus. He remained impassive, though Harry saw something flash through his eyes.

"What would those be?" Severus asked, voice clipped.

"Displays of affection at the breakfast table are unacceptable," she said. "I understand you must leave the school for—personal time somehow, but again, abstaining from physical contact until you are off campus is paramount. There is no need to lie, but do refrain from being so obvious, would you? It is unprofessional and could put the position of your apprenticeship in jeopardy."

Harry turned to Severus. "Could it?"

Severus shook his head sharply. "Minerva is not on the committee who evaluates impending Potion Masters, and it seems she has forgotten that some can remain objective."

"Severus," she snapped. "I can make this very difficult for you, and if you continue to be so rude, I will take personal joy from doing so."

"Pardon me, Minerva," Severus replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. "If I remember correctly, Professors Frederick Hatfield and Rosalie Rhydderch were more than obvious when I was a student. You did not have a problem with their relationship, nor did Albus."

Minerva's lips tightened. "Are you implying this is an issue of gender?"

"Nothing of the sort, merely remarking upon past circumstance," Severus said lightly, and it was obvious enough he was unconvinced, to put it mildly. "Albus himself was so far in the closet his orientation was not revealed to the public until after his death, and then only through an inflammatory biography."

"And here I thought you were a private man," Minerva replied stiffly. "Do you find it proper to go about flaunting romantic involvement in front of the school?"

"I find it proper to conduct my affairs as I see fitting without any interference, from you or anyone else," Severus said angrily. "By the very nature of my reservation, I would assume you would trust my discretion. As far as this morning was concerned, no one but the staff could possibly see the positioning of anyone's hands beneath the Head Table. While I consider last night to be no one's business but mine and Harry's, if I did need to defend myself, I would say that setting a positive example for the students of what a healthy relationship looks like is beneficial, regardless of gender."

"It is an issue of decorum!" Minerva exclaimed. "I could not care less about your sexual orientation. The students' families and relationships amongst themselves may set examples, there is no need to quite literally parade through the front hall entwined. Harry, sit still!"

Harry flamed red and stopped wiggling.

"Perhaps you are being too hard on them," Dumbledore's portrait spoke up. "Surely there is nothing wrong with young love, and I can think of no two men more deserving of happiness than these fine gentlemen."

Minerva shot a furious glare at him while Severus glowered and Harry focused his energy on keeping still despite the hard wooden chair. "Albus, it is not—" She regained her composure and turned back to Harry and Severus. "I have no problem with your relationship, and once again, I am not asking you to keep it quiet. Just tone it down."

"With all due respect," Harry said quietly, "we've been together since February. If there hasn't been an issue in two months, I think we've been quite discreet. I agree with Severus; he was taking me on a date last night. Dinner, in Paris, and then a walk along the Rhine. Is that not okay?"

"Very romantic, I am sure," Minerva replied tightly. "All I ask is you cease public displays of affection. These are the same standards we hold our students to, and it was you, Severus, who brought up setting a good example. Hypocrisy will turn the rules into a laughingstock."

"And if Harry and I begin making out in the corridors, I assure you we will stop." Severus stood elegantly, and Harry scrambled to his feet. "Now if you will excuse us, Harry is late for his lesson, as am I. You mentioned his Potion Master exam, I am sure you understand. Have a pleasant morning."

"Before you leave, Harry, you should be aware that the bite marks on your neck are well defined and all too visible," Minerva said.

Harry blushed furiously as Severus said, "My mistake, Minerva, not Harry's." He swept away, robes billowing out behind him, and Harry followed. He waited to say anything until they were out of hearing range of the stone gargoyle, and it was only then that he realized he was physically shaking.

"Severus, I don't—do you really think that was the best way to handle the situation?" Harry asked nervously.

Severus took his hand and squeezed, dispelling much of Harry's nerves. "I have a reputation to uphold, and I will not allow you to tarnish it," he replied coolly, and Harry smiled. Jokes were so rare, and even ones as deadpan and theoretically rude as this were welcomed. "I hold Minerva in high regard and I recognize she is trying to do what she believes best for the school, but in this case she is wrong, and I will not back down."

"She won't try to break us up, will she?" Harry asked. Despite the change from Professor McGonagall to Minerva, despite becoming a staff member, she would always be above him, and would never lose the stern imposition that had been his first impression of her.

Severus snorted. "I'd like to see her try." Harry's heart soared, and he nearly tripped and tumbled down the rest of the stairs to the second floor landing. Three small words were irrelevant in the face of statements like that. "But no, she will not. She has more respect for both of us than that. She is choosing a conservative route, and I cannot fault her for that. It is our reputation she is protecting as well as the school's; the _Prophet_ will have a field day. You and I should have discussed the repercussions of our 'parade' last night beforehand, but that is a decision that was ours, and while Minerva's attempts to protect us are well-intentioned, it is none of her business."

"I'm kind of over the papers by now," Harry said. "If I can be a Basilisk and still stay the Golden Boy, I think I can handle the world knowing I'm gay." He paused. "That's not an issue in the wizarding world, is it? No more so than with Muggles?"

"Only amongst pureblood families who are required to produce an heir," Severus replied. "Beyond that, irrelevant." He paused. "I may have been out of line accusing Minerva of using that against us. You need only worry what people will say of the Golden Boy keeping company with a former Death Eater."

Harry squeezed his hand. "I couldn't care less. Assuming you and your reputation don't care that you're with said Golden Boy."

Severus winced slightly. "I will survive." They reached the lab, and Severus sent one of his older potion books over to Harry's station and the pages flipping open to a potion Harry had never heard of. "Work quickly if you do not wish to miss lunch."

Harry leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Thank you."

Severus rolled his eyes. "You will not be thanking me when you read the directions. Focus, Potter."

Harry suppressed a smile. "Yes, sir."


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: **This is unbeta-ed due to Camp NaNo. Writewritewrite. No time. Just write.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

**69**

Harry spent the last night before break out in the Forbidden Forest. Severus had joined him for the first half hour or so before becoming fed up with his refusal to slow down and had slithered moodily back to the castle. Harry couldn't blame him; it was his last night of pure freedom before resigning himself to the cramped backyard of Spinner's End, and he hadn't made much of an effort to hold back. Not for the first time, he wondered if there would come a time when he and Severus would find a place that wasn't Spinner's End, somewhere in the country with a large parcel of land, but they had only been dating (though that seemed much too juvenile a word) for four months, and despite having lived together for nearly four years, it felt much, _much_ too early. Probably any time would, but that was for later consideration. Tonight was for the Forest.

Harry didn't waste energy on paying attention to where he was going. Part of his Basilisk powers involved a near perfect sense of direction, and while he enjoyed his ever-increasing knowledge of the Forest, tonight he wanted something new. He sped around the edges of the centaur territory, gave the Acromantulas a wide berth, startled a unicorn grazing in a small clearing by mistake, and after that the only animals he saw were normal, Muggle forest creatures. Several hours in, he accidentally hit a small tree with his tail, dislodging a squirrel, and had a brief snack before continuing. As much as he enjoyed fresh kills, eating too much would slow him down, and that was the last thing he wanted.

The sky was overcast and it was impossible to tell the time, but Harry thought it was roughly one or two in the morning when he saw what looked to be a large nest cradled between two trees. He flicked out his tongue, nervously testing the air. Something was wrong. The eggs were far bigger than any he had seen in the forest before, and the air smelled strange. Most disconcerting, both the eggs and the smell were familiar, filling him with an unnamed sense of trepidation. All smells needed getting used to as a Basilisk, and even those as familiar as fresh grass were strange at first. The combination of taste and smell was new and off-putting, and both were so strong that everything seemed different.

Cautiously, he approached the nest. There were three eggs, each the size of a Quaffle, and a dirty, speckled sort of grey. Harry started to panic, and he flicked at the air again to confirm.

Burnt leaves.

His insides turned to ice.

_Oh fuck. Oh Merlin no. No, no, no, this can't be happening. No._

But once he made the connection it couldn't be unmade, and there was no mistaking the familiarity of the eggs in front of them. He had only seen them once before, but once was enough. There was no gold egg nestled amongst them, but he didn't need an ornate fake to prove what he already knew. He kept trying to tell himself that it couldn't be, he wasn't anywhere near Hungary, northern Scotland was safely separated from eastern Europe by twenty-five hundred kilometers, there was no way, it couldn't be. He also kept telling himself to move, move _now_, get the _fuck_ out of here, but he was frozen in petrified horror.

_I'm not in Hungary_, Harry thought dumbly. _It can't be, I'm not in Hungary. They can't make me do this again_. He had no idea who "they" were, only that it was unacceptable, and he would have some very strict words with the Governors about this, because he'd already been through the first task once, they couldn't make him do it again. And he wasn't bloody in Hungary!

He picked up the leathery sound of wings, and told himself to leave.

Immediately.

He felt the rush of air and saw the canopy waving frantically, and told himself to leave.

Immediately.

He heard the crunching of branches, then of leaves, and he told himself to leave.

Immediately.

Then the dragon stepped into view, and it didn't matter anymore. Yellow eyes surrounded by black scales and accented with bronze horns and spikes saw him immediately. She shrieked in rage, and Harry supposed it looked as though he was poised to eat her eggs. Stupid, really, given how tough they were, and the spikes within, but apparently dragons didn't think that way. She shot a burst of flame at him that he barely had time to dodge. He careened off to the right, bouncing off a tree before streaking away. There was a tremendous crashing as the dragon advanced, and another jet of flame he didn't quite miss. The tip of his tail was engulfed in fire, the edges of his scales singeing and curling up. Harry pushed himself faster, told himself that the forest was too thick to allow a dragon passage, but it didn't matter. He was in a grove of pine trees, trees not known for their density, and it stretched on as far as he could see. What obstacles there were she obliterated with fire and her massive frame. Another blast of flame caught his left side, and as well as the edges of his scales curling, several fell off entirely, leaving his skin bare, blistered and excruciating.

Faster, he needed to go faster. Instead he was slowing, the pain in his side preventing him from moving any faster. The dragon's thundering steps drew closer, and then her tail connected with his side, spikes easily slicing through his scales and flesh, flinging him fifteen or twenty yards, crashing through trees and sending ancient pines tumbling to the ground.

"Stop!" he yelled in Parseltongue, having a vague idea that dragons were sort of like snakes, and knowing that wasn't true but needed to try. "Stop, I wasn't—"

A jet of fire set the tree he had settled against ablaze, and he took off again, moving as quickly as his battered body would allow. The holes in his side were pouring blood, he could smell the coppery tinge trailing behind him, and he could feel every leaf, every twig, every particle of dirt against his bare skin where his scales had once been.

_Eyes!_

Harry whirled around and locked gazes with the dragon. She paused for a moment, then breathed out crimson death. He flung himself into motion, realizing how stupid he had been. Oculus Ius; works every time. He could change back to human and then back to Basilisk to deactivate the potion, but if he was in this bad shape as a magical serpent, he thought being a human might kill him, even for the time it took to—

Her tail connected again, this time with the side of his head. He shrieked in a way he hadn't known he was capable of, once again slamming into countless trees before he came to a skidding halt. At least he didn't feel the impact this time—no, he was too busy with the searing pain in his face and trying to think through the greyish haze that was descending over his mind and eyes. He had to move, had to do something, or he was going to be roasted. Good advice; now if only he could will his broken body into action, he'd be fine.

Harry resumed his escape, though that was a grand word for the meager slithering he could manage. His mind was once again stuck on Hungary—he wasn't in Hungary, why was there a Hungarian Horntail in Scotland, it was Scotland, not Hungary. Flames consumed the end of his tail again, incinerating the already charred scales, and injuring new ones. It spurred him into action, at least, and he found he could, in fact, go at full speed again. Especially because just ahead now the forest closed back in on itself, oaks and elms and yews blocking the way for any creature wider than a snake. With one last burst of speed he flew into the woods.

The dragon screamed in rage, but her scream was behind him again. Acutely aware that she could take to flight at any moment and fry him through the canopy, Harry continued to push himself, the adrenaline pounding through him giving him speed but no relief from the pain. He was raw, bubbling, melted, and charred, bleeding profusely from the tail wounds, head swimming from the direct strike, and still he had to go. He had no idea how far he was from Hogwarts, and in fact started to think he was, in fact, in Hungary, because why else would he have run into a Hungarian Horntail? Yes, somehow he had apparated out of the Forbidden Forest, or found a portkey, or a bloody wormhole, and had ended up in Hungary. It all made sense now. What, exactly, was he racing towards, then? His grasp of eastern Europe was vague at best. Romania was somewhere nearby, they had more dragons but also dragon trainers, wizards who knew how to handle dragon injuries, but what direction was Romania?

West, he remembered suddenly. Romania was west because it was on the sea. Only which way was west? The sky was clouded over so he couldn't use the stars or the moon. Something about moss growing on one side of trees flashed through his mind, but there was moss everywhere, and he didn't remember it anyway. He'd just have to trust his sense of direction to take him somewhere safe. Hungary didn't feel particularly safe in the slightest, but surely somewhere there was someone, and Romania, if he could get to Romania…

Harry forced himself faster, hissing in pain as he whipped himself through the forest. All thought drifted away as he ran—no, slithered, he was a snake not a human—leaving nothing but the pain. He felt himself slowing down and tried to push but there wasn't anything left. His fogged mind told him Romania, and he sped up for maybe fifty yards before deteriorating. He was crashing against trees, leaving smears of blood and broken trunks in his wake, and with each hit he learned a new level of pain, but he couldn't straighten out. Too much, it was too much. He didn't want to be in Hungary or Romania, he wanted Scotland, the Forbidden Forest, Hogwarts, home, his bed.

_Severus._

Strength flooded through him. Severus, he had Severus waiting for him back at the castle. He wasn't in Hungary after all, he _was_ in the Forbidden Forest, and on the other side was Severus. If he could make it just a little farther, just to the edge of the forest, he could force himself over to Hagrid's hut and get help. If there was help to be had, and he wasn't beyond repair. The thought was chilling and convincing. Even if he was going to die, and the way he was starting to get dizzy and still couldn't get his thoughts straight made it seem all the more likely with each fresh torrent of blood, he could still see Severus again, one last time. He moved faster, keeping the thought of his lover in the front of his mind. Grey fog kept trying to block it out but he pushed it away. He might not see him again, he could be hundreds of kilometers away from the castle, but with every movement he drew closer to the castle, and the closer he was the more likely his body would be found, and then at least Severus would know. His friends, too, they could hold a proper ceremony.

He was slowing again. The grey was taking over. Trees that had been blurring past him now moved sluggishly. Whip-like motions decreased to swishes. He could hardly see as the grey closed around him. For the first time he realized he couldn't hear out of his left ear, the side he'd been hit. A little further, he told himself. Just a little further and he could see Severus, look into his eyes—which was a joke, after the stupidity with the dragon—and hear his voice, feel the warmth of his hand on his scales, or what was left of them, and then maybe dying wouldn't be so bad. He'd done it before, after all, in these very woods. Maybe Dumbledore would be waiting for him on the other side again, and they could ride the train together. A little farther, one last kiss from Severus, and then he'd be at King's Cross again. The pain would be gone. He'd be able to think clearly. There wouldn't be any dragons. He wouldn't be hallucinating, and he—

Wait. He had been hearing hoof beats for a few minutes now and had dismissed them as his injured ear misfiring, but now he could feel the vibrations through the earth. It didn't seem like a hallucination. The pain from the shaking ground was certainly real enough.

Harry realized he had stopped moving and that continuing was out of the question. Maybe it was a unicorn. That would be nice, dying with a unicorn. Severus would be better, but a unicorn was good. Yes, unicorns were very good. The last thing he saw were astonishingly blue eyes, and then everything faded away.

**70**

A hand on his forehead.

He had a forehead? He thought he was dead.

A familiar hand, though.

"Harry, please."

Familiar voice, too, and then it was gone.

**71**

Whiteness.

That made more sense. It wasn't King's Cross, it wasn't anything, but it was white.

Dumbledore was not amongst the whiteness.

His right hand—how was he still corporeal? he didn't understand—was warm.

Mm, white and warm. A good place to be.

Then he wasn't anywhere.

**72**

Screaming.

Contorting in pain, so it was probably him screaming.

What was going _on_ with this physical form thing?

Burning everywhere. Sharp, glassy points in his side and his head.

The screams were so _loud_, he was getting a headache. Couldn't he just shut up?

Coolness spreading through him, originating where he supposed his mouth was.

Cool was better. He never wanted to be hot again. Didn't know why, though.

**73**

He had been in the forest.

Blue eyes had been in the forest. Dumbledore must have greeted him there, then, and brought him here.

But why wasn't he here now? Where was here? Not King's Cross. White, though.

White fading into black.

"Don't go."

The voice tugged at him, but he drifted away.

**74**

"Harry, my love, please. Open your eyes."

Did he have eyes? Weren't they open, wasn't that how he could see the white?

And _really_. If he was going to be dead, he ought to at least be free of his body. He'd always had vague notions of flying in the afterlife, flying without his broom, but he couldn't do that if he still had a body.

Maybe—maybe he wasn't dead.

If that were true, he'd certainly need his body.

Pain started to seep through the white, and he left.

**75**

"Oh, Harry. Harry, Harry, Harry, please."

The voice was different from the other voice. He wasn't sure how.

"Please, Harry, wake up. We need you, don't we?"

"Mum—" The voice broke off as a foghorn sounded. No, wait, that was the voice. "Mum says you've got to. For the wedding. It's too late to find a new best man."

"Ron, shut up, he doesn't want to hear about that."

_Ron?_ Ron was here? Ron wasn't dead, too, was he? He would have company, at least, wherever he was, if Ron was dead.

"Mum told me to tell him."

He didn't want Ron dead, of course.

"You mum says a lot of things! Harry, don't listen to him. The wedding doesn't matter."

But, still. Company would be nice.

"It wouldn't be the same without you, mate."

Everything was so white.

"_Ron!_"

So very, very white.

**76**

Too many voices. One was hard enough to keep track of.

"She's been relocated, along with her eggs, back to the reserve. No idea how it got here in the first place, but the last thing you guys need is a dragon."

_**DRAGON**_

_**DRAGONDRAGONDRAGON**_

_**RUN**_

**77**

Screaming again.

Red-hot heat.

Icepicks through his side and head.

Coolness, wasn't there coolness before? Where was the coolness? He needed the coolness.

"Breathe, Harry. Please, relax, breathe. I need you to breathe. Breathe for me."

The first voice, possibly. The pain was too much.

His head ached from the screaming. If he was really making that noise, wouldn't he stop when it hurt?

Why was it hurting when he _shouldn't have a body to hurt?_

Red overtook the white. Did that mean this was hell?

"I love you, please. Harry, please. Breathe."

He wouldn't be loved in hell.

Still red, though.

**78**

It occurred to him that the astonishingly blue eyes from before were too bright to be Dumbledore's.

Who had blue eyes?

The answer seemed close. He thought it had to do with the forest.

And hadn't there been—

Did unicorns have blue eyes? Maybe ones that brought you to death.

That was it. A unicorn who could cross between the land of the living and the dead. Maybe it had eaten the resurrection stone by mistake.

…wait, what?

His brow furrowed.

A flurry of voices.

"Harry! He moved, I saw him move!"

"No, we would have seen."

"No! He looked confused! I swear to Merlin, he looked confused."

"You are endlessly confusing. It would hardly come as a surprise."

He wanted that voice. Whatever voice that was, he wanted that one. The others were good, but that was the one.

"I wasn't even saying anything!"

"Really, Ron, he didn't."

Ron again? Was he dead, then?

Maybe he was alive after all. That would explain the having-a-body business. There wasn't any reason for Ron to be dead.

…then why was there a reason for him to be dead?

Something about the forest.

"Yes, he did."

**79**

"Imagine it, surviving two dragon attacks."

_**DRAGONRUNDRAGONRUNRUNRUN**_

"Don't. Don't try, it can't help, you'll only upset yourself."

"Yeah, but _two _dragons. After all that he's been through! Two!"

_**DON'TTALKRUNDRAGONRUNDRAGONDRAGON**_

_**FIRE**_

_**DRAGONRUN**_

_**SPIKES FLYING THROUGH THE AIR SPIKES FIRE**_

_**DRAGONDRAGONDRAGONDRAGONDRAGONDRAGON**_

"Shut up."

The good voice, the best voice.

He didn't want to run from the voice. But if there were dragons, if there were dragons he needed to run, _run, __**runRUNRUNRUNDRAGON**_

"Harry, Mum told me to ask again, about the wedding. It's in two weeks, and—_ow_! 'Mione!"

Hermione couldn't be dead. That didn't make any sense, she was far too practical for that.

"_Ronald Weasley shut your mouth_."

Oh, why was yelling so good? He loved the voice even when it was yelling.

He reached for the voice. White started to fade away to—

Colors?

A warm hand on his. He thought it belonged to the voice. They were both so good.

Red off to the side. Brown next to it. More brown next to that.

Black off to the other side.

He had forgotten about colors. They were sort of strange. He wanted the white back, but he wanted the voice and the hand more. And if Ron and Hermione were here, he wanted them, too.

He decided he definitely wasn't dead. He had a hand and there were colors. Those things were strictly reserved for living people.

Probably.

He'd only been dead twice, after all. He was hardly an expert. And if he wasn't dead now, only once. Definitely not an expert.

With the colors and the hand came pain. He moaned.

"Did you—"

"I thought I heard—"

Burning, searing pain.

"Harry, was that you?"

Spikes piercing through him.

A hand on his forehead. No pain there, just the hand. The other hand, the other was still in his hand.

"Harry?"

The voice again.

"Harry, are you awake?"

He wanted to answer the voice.

The pain brought clarity. It wasn't a voice, or a hand, or even two hands. He knew the voice and he knew the hands.

"Sssehhhh…"

"Harry!"

"Shut up, Neville! Harry can you talk?"

Neville was here, too? He must have been the second brown blur.

He was starting to connect the voices to names. The voice that told Neville to shut up, that was Ron. Red blur, excitable voice, Ron.

"We won't be able to hear if you keep talking!" Bossy brown blur. Hermione. "Both of you, shut up!"

The hand—Severus' hand, it was Severus, his voice and his hands and his black blur—Severus' hand stroked his hair. His voice was quiet and strange, but he still recognized it.

"Harry?"

He wanted Severus. He wanted to come back for Severus, to talk for him.

He had wanted him before.

In the forest, by the astonishingly blue eyes. He had been trying to find Severus.

He had pushed himself so far for him. He had come back from—from where?

Hungary.

He'd come back form Hungary.

…what?

Wait, hadn't someone been talking about dragons?

_**rundragon**_

Hungary. Dragon.

_**dragondragondragon**_

"Harry, love?"

Severus' voice. Not a dragon, Severus' voice.

"Sssssss."

"Healer! We need a Healer!" That was Hermione, he thought.

He had been running to Severus.

No, running from something.

Running from.

_**DRAGON**_

"_Run!_"

The voice cut through the air like a knife. All the other voices fell silent.

He couldn't hear the dragon and it was quiet, but the dragon was coming, they had to run, had to leave _right away_, the dragon, _dragon_, the _**DRAGON—**_

"Ruhh—_run_, _ruhhh—drahh—_"

Voices exploded around him, but there weren't any footsteps.

Or fire, or spikes.

But the dragon, they had to go, why wasn't anybody listening, there was a bloody _dragon_.

Severus' hand squeezed his, and somehow he could hear his voice through the others.

"No, Harry, there is no dragon. You escaped. You're at St. Mungo's."

He was so confused. Frantic and confused.

"_Noo_."

"Yes," Severus said firmly. "You escaped, and the centaurs brought you to Hogwarts, and then you were rushed to the hospital."

Astonishingly blue eyes. Firenze had astonishingly blue eyes.

Hungary. Hungarian Horntail.

In the Forbidden Forest? Or had he been in Hungary?

Oh, Merlin, everything hurt. The blurs faded to white.

Coolness flooded him.

"You're going to be okay," Severus said gently. "Go back to sleep, I will be here when you wake up."

"_We_ will _all_—"

Whoever's voice that was got cut off by the white.

**81**

Harry opened his eyes. The ceiling was white. Ron, Hermione, and Neville were sitting on his left talking softly, and Severus was on his right, holding his hand. He felt raw, like he'd been rubbed down with rough sandpaper. There were sharp spears of pain, five grouped on the right side of his ribcage and three on the left side of his head by his temple. There was a faint ringing in his left ear. He thought about trying to sit up but thought it might be a stupid idea.

"Severus?" His throat was raw, too, but manageable.

His friends stopped talking, and Severus jerked to face him. Harry thought he might have been dozing lightly. He wondered how long he had been here for.

"Harry, are you awake?"

His voice was like honey, soothing his burns. Because they were burns, not sandpaper. Burns from a dragon.

_**Dragon**_

But not here, there wasn't a dragon in the hospital. There had been a dragon in—in the Forbidden Forest? Or Hungary? Harry was hazy on the details. He had no idea why he would be in Hungary, but the idea was pervasive.

"Think so." Harry started coughing, and Hermione immediately held up a cup of water, complete with straw. He took slow sips until he could breathe again. He must have inhaled a lot of smoke, though he didn't remember doing so. Maybe the dragon had breathed flames down his mouth, but that didn't seem likely. Probably smoke, and he had been too busy to notice.

"How're you feeling?" Ron asked.

Harry didn't know how to answer that. Neville replied for him.

"A dragon nearly killed him! How do you think he feels?"

Harry nodded weakly. "That." He had only said four words, but the effort left him exhausted. Still, there were things he needed to know before he lost consciousness. Or maybe by now it was called going to sleep, he wasn't sure. "How bad?"

"You've made a fantastic recovery," Hermione said quickly. "Really, Harry, they're calling it a miracle. Nobody should have survived what you went through."

That didn't sound good. "How bad?" he repeated, looking to Severus. He wouldn't lie or dance around the truth.

"You were severely burned," Severus said. "You broke nearly every bone it is possible to break, and outright shattered six ribs. All of your breaks have healed with the exception of your bottom two ribs, which I am afraid you will have to learn to live without. It is nothing to worry over. The burns have been more difficult, though you are recovering. The other strike on your head, those wounds have healed, but as for other damage, we have—" He cleared his throat. "It was not possible to tell the extent of your injuries until you woke."

Whether he was brain dead, that's what Severus was getting at. He wasn't, he knew that. But missing two ribs? That wasn't anything to worry about? It certainly seemed worrisome. "Head's fine," he croaked out. "Hurts. Ear's ringing. My ribs?"

"They're called floating ribs," Hermione supplied, sounding a little calmer. "Some people are born with one less set than normal, some with an extra. You're lopsided, but it's really not as bad as it sounds."

Harry decided to let it go, at least for now. "The burns?" His heart clenched. "My scales?"

His friends exchanged nervous looks, and even Severus looked unsettled. That did not bode well.

"We do not know," Severus said. "I changed you back as soon as you were back at Hogwarts, but you are in no condition to attempt a change now or any time soon. There is reason to believe when your human form is healed so will your Basilisk, but there is no way to know for sure."

Harry didn't like that at all, but he supposed there wasn't anything he could do about it. "The burns?" he repeated.

"Healing," Severus repeated. "They were very deep and it is a long process, but you will recover fully."

Okay, good. Presumably if fragile human skin could heal, so could toughened Basilisk scales, which was equally good. He knew there was no use trying to explain that his Basilisk body was just as much him as his human form, and no hope whatsoever of telling them that after the dragon it was almost more important. If he hadn't been a Basilisk, he'd be dead. His Basilisk self had rescued his human self, and he would never forget it. He supposed his human self had also rescued his Basilisk self by inventing the potions to manage it, but this was different. He had survived a dragon.

"How long've I been here?" Harry asked, voice still rough. He drank the water Hermione held out for him gratefully.

"Just shy of two months," Severus replied.

Harry jerked, getting water up his nose and triggering a sneezing and coughing fit so painful he nearly passed out. _Two months_? He had missed his birthday. He knew that wasn't important in the big picture, that he'd have plenty of birthdays and turning twenty-two wasn't particularly special, but it was his birthday!

"Our wedding's not for another week and a half," Ron said.

"Ron!" Hermione snapped. "Stop it! How many times do I have to tell you to stop bringing up the bloody wedding?"

"It's not me!" Ron protested. "It's my mum!"

Harry laughed faintly. "T's fine. I'll be there."

"You will not," Severus said sharply. "You are remaining in St. Mungo's until you are completely healed. Have you any idea how susceptible to infections burn victims are? And until your brain function has been fully examined, you aren't to do so much as sit. I absolutely forbid it."

Harry decided this was a conversation that could wait. He ran back through his memories of the attack and the time he was unconscious, putting the pieces together and finding what was missing. "Was Charlie here?"

Ron's face lit up. "Yeah! You remember that? He was the leader of the team who rehomed the dragon. We didn't think you'd be able to hear, but he wanted to tell you in person that she was in Romania and the Forbidden Forest is officially dragon-free. Do you remember everything we said?"

Harry shook his head. "Bits and pieces." He turned to Severus, who had been the one to bring it up. "Centaurs found me?"

"Not just any centaurs, but Firenze," Neville burst in. "He convinced the others to help you. They made a sort of sling out of vines, and carried you to the school. We're growing them now, those vines, just in case."

"You came very far," Severus said softly. "Did you intend on finding the centaur's territory?" Harry shook his head again. "It is very lucky you did."

"Amazing, too, given how hurt you were," Ron added. "Charlie said the dragon's nest was over three hundred kilometers out."

"How did you make it back?" Hermione asked quietly. "You shouldn't have been able to."

"Was trying to get to Romania," Harry replied, and his friends looked at him as though he'd gone mad. Actually, that was literally probably what they thought, given his head injury. "Hungarian Horntail. Got confused." They relaxed slightly, and Ron even smiled a little. Harry squeezed Severus' hand, locking eyes with him as he said the rest. "Back to you."

There was a split second where Harry thought he saw Severus' eyes become suspiciously shiny before he blinked, clearing away what no doubt hadn't been there in the first place.

"Whatever your motivation, I—we, we are all glad you returned," Severus replied.

"Firenze was given an Order of Merlin, First Class," Ron supplied.

Hermione frowned. "He didn't accept it, though. He said it was a wizarding medal, and meant nothing to him or his people."

"Hermione's been driving herself insane trying to decide if that's noble or foolish," Neville said with a smile.

Her frown deepened. "Like all thinking beings, centaurs ought to be regarded with the same respect offered to any wizard. Firenze especially has been more involved with the wizarding world, but—"

"Shut up," Ron said, somewhere between annoyed and affectionate. "We're all sick of hearing about it, and I doubt Harry cares. Right, mate?"

Harry shrugged apologetically. His eyes were drooping, and he didn't think he'd be able to stay awake much longer. There was something he needed to say to Severus only he wasn't sure what it was, and it definitely couldn't be said in front of his friends. He covered his confusion with an easier question. "Still your apprentice? And teaching?"

"When you are properly healed," Severus replied, sternness creeping in. "Horace is resuming his fulltime position until you are well."

Harry suspected as much. His eyes closed the rest of the way. "Love you all." He fell asleep to the sound of his friends' assenting. He heard Severus' voice mixed in but didn't have time to untangle his words before he was gone.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N:** No time or energy for a long AN but a quick note:

The dragon may have seemed out of nowhere, but she was a plot point a long time coming. I didn't run out of ideas or throw her in at the last minute; she was well planned. It's kind of hard to slowly lead up to SURPRISE DRAGON! y'know?

Anyway, enjoy.

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

**82**

The next few weeks sort of jumped along. Harry would be awake and coherent for hours, sometimes days at a time, and then suddenly he'd wake up and three days had gone by. His memory was off, too, though he was assured this was due to the medication he was on and not related to his head injury.

Ron and Hermione visited as much as possible, but the closer it got to their wedding the more they were pulled away, and then they were on their honeymoon for two or three weeks, Harry couldn't remember. Actually, they were the product of one of his more confused memories, because he was fairly certain he was part of the wedding ceremony, only he was positive he hadn't gotten out of bed. It was more of an image of Hermione in a white dress and Ron's hair behaving than anything else.

Various other Weasleys came and went as schedules permitted, especially Mrs. Weasley, who kept bringing food Harry wasn't allowed to eat and insisting he sneak a bite anyway. George nearly blew up the hospital while trying to show off a new item for the joke shop, and was banned from returning.

Neville stopped by two or three times a week, but he was overseeing the growing of something Harry could never remember at Hogwarts, and couldn't stay away for long.

All the staff of Hogwarts visited at least once, with the exception of Professor Binns, though to his credit he probably hadn't noticed anything was strange. Hagrid and Minerva made the most frequent appearances, and Harry was surprised he had to repeatedly reassure Minerva it wasn't her fault; it seemed that since the Forbidden Forest was technically part of Hogwarts, she felt responsible for all of its inhabitance, and it took a long time for Harry to convince her that wasn't he case, and even if it was, he'd been rescued by centaurs, and they also lived in the Forest.

Then there was Severus.

Severus never left. Not once, at least not that Harry could tell. He assumed he had to go home periodically to change his clothes and shower and eat something beyond hospital food, but he never saw it. Every time he woke up, Severus was there. Every time he sort of drifted in the general direction of awake, he could feel Severus' hand on his. His voice registered when nothing else did, and even when Harry couldn't think clearly enough to know what he was saying, it soothed him in a way the burn paste and drops of potion that went into his puncture wounds couldn't come close to helping.

School started just as Harry was starting to return to a normal schedule. He still slept more than he ever had before, but he would have at least nine or ten solid hours of coherent alertness. After what Severus referred to as a short conversation and Harry understood to be a drawn out battle, he arranged his schedule so he wasn't teaching on Fridays. He still made it out most weeknights, having set up a special Floo in their quarters leading to St. Mungo's, but by the time he made it to the hospital, Harry was asleep more often than not, and there were almost no nights when he stayed awake until Severus finished grading. Having the three day weekend let Harry spend time with Severus while he was awake, rather than sleeping in his presence while his skin knit itself back together.

The second week of September, Harry started going on walks through the hospital. He was amazed and incredibly disheartened to find how much his body had atrophied, and the skin that had been burned was tight, shiny, and could barely stretch at all. At first going from one end of his room to the other was too much, but while he still needed to be accompanied, he was soon able to explore the whole floor, and on one memorable occasion, get himself a chocolate frog from the vending machine. The Healers had been telling him this since he had woken up, but it was finally true: his progress would be slow and outwardly insignificant until suddenly he flew forward; his burned skin still new and strange but once again skin, the punctures from the spikes faded except for a few small scars, and he once again could _think_. After failing to convince Severus, he had Horace send him the curriculum for the fourth and fifth year classes he was supposed to teach this year and started getting himself up to speed.

The third Friday in September, the twentieth, Harry went outside for the first time since June.

Severus had been with him since breakfast, and just after lunch they received permission to go out to the courtyard. Harry was practically bouncing with excitement, but he forced himself to move slowly and carefully. He could walk normally, but if he intended on a long distance, shuffling hobbles were the way to go. They walked in silence, Severus holding his arm despite Harry's insistence that he didn't need to, remained quiet through the elevator ride, and then it wasn't so much months of pent up words all trying to get out at once as being winded that kept Harry quiet.

The door to the courtyard opened automatically. A light breeze, unseasonably warm, drifted against Harry's face and through his hair. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply; never before had he been so aware of what fresh air smelled like. After a few moments he opened his eyes and stepped outside.

It was sort of anticlimactic in that he was wearing trainers and standing on a concrete walkway, but then they moved out of the shadow of the building and he could feel the sun on him, the smell of fresh grass, and another wisp of a breeze. He let Severus lead him over to a bench and they sat together, still in silence. Harry was going to say something, he'd been planning on saving it for this moment, but all he could do was turn his face up to the sun and let himself breathe.

"They think I can go home in a week or two," Harry said. "Around the end of the month, if I keep up the way I've been."

"That is very good to hear," Severus replied, though he sounded guarded.

Harry's stomach clenched. He didn't know exactly why it would be difficult to move back, but he had known, and for weeks. "I've been talking to Minerva and Horace, too. I'll start teaching again the first week of November. To give me time to get used to Hogwarts again, and see about my other form."

Severus gave him a sharp glance, but a protective one. "You think you will be ready by then?"

"Yeah, I've already been catching up," Harry said. "Helping Horace out with lesson plans, and a little bit of grading."

Severus rolled his eyes. "I am aware."

Harry squeezed his hand. "Just stuff I can do from bed. I'll be observing classes through October, so I'll know if it's too much."

"Even if it is you will do it anyways," Severus replied, resigned. "If you can survive a dragon, I assume you are capable of handling fifth years."

"I hope so," Harry said with a smile that wasn't returned. He steeled himself. "You do want me to move back in with you, right? I can always stay with Neville if you don't, or get my own quarters entirely."

Severus tightened his grip on Harry's hand to the point of almost excruciating pain before relaxing. "You will stay with me."

Harry tried to find the best way to phrase what he needed to say. "Because you want me there, or because you feel guilty?"

Severus' eyes blazed. "Excuse me?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "I know you do. I've seen it in the way you hover, and how you hold my arm when you don't need to. I've had nothing to do but lie in bed, and I've gotten very good at reading you over the years. You think if you hadn't gone back to the castle, this wouldn't have happened."

"I think no such thing," Severus said tightly. "It is true that if I had been with you, you would not have been able to go out so far, but if by some means you had, I merely would have slowed you down and taken your focus away from saving yourself."

"I know that," Harry said. "Never mind about if you were there, because you'll never admit that I'd need to rescue you—though I would have—but you're right, I wouldn't have gone so for out. But I would have the next time I was alone; you can't go with me every time. It'd drive both of us mental."

"I told you, I know," Severus replied irritably. "You are aware of the dangers the Forbidden Forest possesses more than most, and you still chose to go out. The consequences are yours."

"I know," Harry said again. "Severus, I know that. It was me, not you. It wasn't even me, it was just the Forest. Nobody knew there was a dragon there, let alone a Horntail. It had nothing to do with either of us."

"Why do you keep repeating yourself?" Severus snapped. "What is the issue?"

"No, Sev, you're not listening," Harry replied. "Stop blaming yourself."

"Don't call me that!" Severus said angrily. "I'm not!"

"You're contracting," Harry pointed out. "Look, it's fine. You don't have to say it to me. Just please, listen to me. It's not your fault and I don't blame you."

"Idiot boy," Severus grumbled.

Harry smiled slightly. "Yeah, probably. But you never answered my question. Do you want me to live with you because you feel like you need to protect me, or do you genuinely want me with you?"

"Of course I need to protect you!" Severus exploded, and that was good, at least they were being honest now. "I have protected you since the day your parents died. My efforts have largely been woefully inadequate due to your stupidity and incessant need for constant danger, but if you take that do mean I do not love you, then you are an idiot."

"That's not at all what I'm saying," Harry replied, turning to face him, taking both Severus' hands in his. "You've been different since I've woken up. I didn't know what it was at first, but I think you're scared that I'll do something stupid and you won't be there to save me. I want you to take care of me, I love it when you do small things for me, like the night you drew me a bath. But you haven't got to rescue me. I'm here, sitting in front of you, on a bench at St. Mungo's, and there's nothing to rescue me from."

Severus looked furious, and he didn't seem to be able to form words.

"I want to live with you," Harry continued. "I love you, and I love living with you, but only if you don't feel obligated to house me. I first moved in because Minerva made me, and then I sort of bullied you into letting me stay."

"I am not capable of being bullied," Severus interrupted tersely.

"Maybe not," Harry conceded. "But I need to know that you want me because of _me_, and not to keep an eye on me."

Severus yanked one of his hands free and rubbed his forehead. "What do you want me to say, Potter? Your hero complex has grown so large, it seems you believe it has enveloped me as well. What must I say to convince you I have no such affliction?"

"Of course you don't, neither of us do, stop being antagonistic," Harry said, grabbing his hand back. "I'm saying you're blaming yourself for something that isn't your fault, and you're overprotective because of it. You wouldn't even let me read the fifth year syllabus; I had to get it from Horace."

"You are supposed to be healing!" Severus replied. "There is plenty of time for work when you are not in the hospital."

"It's not work, it's looking at a list of potions," Harry said. "And I am healing. I walked out here, didn't I? I've got skin again. I'm tired, but I'm fine." Severus' eyes flicked to the side, and Harry frowned. "What?"

Severus untangled his hand from Harry's—gently, this time—and brushed his temple. "You are not fine."

Harry touched the spot. "Oh, the scar? Yeah, I've got two now. It's nothing. It'll fade some more, and after a while you won't notice it."

Severus shook his head sharply. "It may fade."

Harry closed his hand around Severus'. "Please don't. It's just a scar. You've got your fair share from the wars, we both have. This one's from a dragon, not you."

Severus was still rubbing the raised white tissue with his thumb. "I should have—"

"No," Harry interrupted. "No, you did exactly what you were supposed to do. You gave me something to come home to."

Severus met his eyes with an intensity Harry could barely handle. "That was true, then?"

"Well, at first I was trying to get to Romania," Harry said, offering him a small smile that, again, went unreturned. "But yes, it was you. I could barely think, and I think I was literally on fire, though I might have gone out by then, I was losing gallons of blood, and it was you that kept me going. I thought that even if I died, I could see you one last time, have one last kiss. Or if I did before I saw you, at least you would find me, and you wouldn't be left wondering."

Severus shook his head wordlessly, denying the notion of the possibility of the concept.

"Would you?" Harry asked quietly. "Kiss me? You haven't since I woke up."

"Of course I have," Severus replied, voice rough.

"A real kiss," Harry amended. "A long one, with tongues. You've been so gentle with me, like I'm going to break, but I won't. Please, Sev. I want you so much."

Severus let out a quiet noise, and kissed him. Harry sighed in relief, melting against his hand, opening his mouth and licking Severus' lips, knowing even now he'd need to push him. He felt so good, like home, and he tasted like love, and if only he would—

Harry sighed again when Severus finally, _finally_ responded the way Harry had been waiting for. Their tongues danced for a moment before Severus took control the way he usually did. He'd missed this desperately, he hadn't known how much until now, and he tangled his hand in Severus' hair, refusing to let him go until he was absolutely positive he would be kissed this way again.

Presumably when Severus broke away for air several minutes later, he had gotten his point across. Certainly the flush against his pale skin and how dark his eyes meant Harry had succeeded.

"I remember you telling me you love me," Harry said when he could breathe again. "Before I woke up."

"I have said that before," Severus replied, moving down from his forehead to stroke his cheek.

"You said it twice," Harry said. "And now once more."

Severus' eyebrows flew up. "Once more?"

Harry flushed and stammered. "O—oh? More?"

Finally Severus smiled. Not a big smile, but enough. "Do not concern yourself. I do love you, Harry, very much. I want you to live with me, and while I cannot say that it will not be a relief to have you under my roof and nearby, that is not my primary motive. All right?"

Harry snuggled into his embrace, wrapping his arm around himself and kissing his cheek before tucking his head beneath his. "Okay. I love you, too."

They were silent for a few moments, and then Severus said, "Do not ever do that to me again."

Harry smiled to himself. "I'll try."

Severus let ou ta deep sigh. "And you will fail, I am sure. Really, Harry, dragons? How is it you manage to stumble across a Hungarian dragon in the middle of Scotland?"

"I've been asking myself that question for quite a while now," Harry replied. "I still haven't completely discounted the wormhole-to-Hungary theory."

"Only you could make such a theory sound plausible," Severus said. "What is _wrong_ with you? Do you enjoy near death?"

"No," Harry replied. "It hurts."

"Then tell me how you manage to do this over and over again," Severus demanded. "I cannot even list all of the ways you nearly died while a student, or in the year leading up to the Final Battle. Even after the threat of the Dark Lord has passed, you still manage to court death on a regular basis."

"Oh, come on, this is the first time since I died!" Harry exclaimed.

There was a moment of silence, and then they both started laughing. It was the first time Harry had heard Severus laugh since he had woken up, and it was rare enough before that. Harry pulled him down for another kiss before settling back.

"Speaking of courting," Severus said suddenly. "I have yet to take you on more than a single date. I do not wish to task you, but perhaps I could arrange something within the hospital, or depending on your release, on the grounds of Hogwarts."

"Mm, I'd like that," Harry replied. "Y'know, we haven't had sex in three months."

"Which we will not resume here or on the grounds!" Severus replied. "When you are well—"

"Everything down there works fine," Harry interrupted innocently. "Completely unharmed."

Severus paused for a moment. "Good, but there are other parts of your body involved, and—"

"I'm probably more flexible now," Harry said. "Since I'm short two ribs. I bet I can bend in new ways."

"Be that as it may, when you are home, then—"

"I've been living here for three months," Harry mused. "That's sort of like home, right? I called Spinner's End home over the summer, and that was for three months."

"We are in an open courtyard," Severus replied, apparently out of better excuses. "And you are in pain!"

"I am not," Harry protested. "I get tired easily, and I wouldn't recommend, like, throwing me down a flight of stairs, but as long as you're reasonable careful and don't mind doing all the work…" He could feel Severus' heartbeat start to speed up. "Even if you're too afraid of sex, I could always do other things. You've been so stressed lately, surely you could use some relaxation."

"I'm not—you shouldn't—too busy," Severus stammered, then cleared his throat. "It is far too busy here. There is nowhere we could be undisturbed for any amount of time."

"Ah, but you're forgetting I've been wandering the halls getting my strength back," Harry replied, sitting up and giving Severus a smile. "There's a supply closet by the nurses station that locks from the inside."

Severus paused. "How long can your absence be excused for?"

Harry stood, offering his hands to Severus, who took them only after he stood. "Long enough."

"This is conditional," Severus insisted. "If at any time you are in too much pain or unable to continue, we will stop. Nor are we having sex in a bloody hospital supply closet. Have some decency."

"So where's the line?" Harry asked coyly, making sure the elevator was empty before continuing. "I can blow you, but only if I don't use my fingers?"

Severus glared at him. "Shut up."

"I'm just saying, supply closets are either romantic or they aren't," Harry said. "It feels hypocritical to draw an arbitrary line. Are blowjobs not romantic, then? Because I certainly think they are, and I'd be a little offended if you didn't, too."

Severus' gaze softened. "Of course." He kissed him, jumping when the bell dinged, signifying their arrival. Harry laughed and took his hand, leading him down the halls and into the closet, casting a small Disillusionment charm as they entered.

"So did I bring you here for nothing?" Harry asked, leaning his body fully against Severus, making his hips especially known.

"If only I had the control," Severus replied, leaning down to kiss his neck. Harry sighed. It had been _far_ too long. "I insist our proper reunion wait for our bed."

"Okay." Harry would have said anything to keep that mouth and those hands on him.

"Tell me if—"

"Shut up and kiss me," Harry interrupted, and that was much more satisfying.

**83**

Harry's first night back at Hogwarts was very low-key. Neville, Severus, and Minerva engineered it so everyone knew Harry was coming back on the first Sunday in October, which was absolutely perfect as he was home on Friday night. He used the Floo gate into their quarters, then collapsed on the couch as Severus performed some complicated magic to remove them from the network. Generally speaking, his energy levels these days were nearly normal, but packing everything that had migrated to the hospital, going through all the paperwork, promising Severus (repeatedly) that he was well enough to come home, and then the Floo trip was enough to exhaust him.

"Harry, you look awful," Severus said when he finally turned around. "Do you need to go back?"

"No," Harry said firmly. "I'm just worn out. Thanks, by the way. Always assumed you found me attractive."

"Shut up," Severus replied, though he did smile a little. "I will send for dinner and we will eat here, yes?"

Harry nodded. Severus kissed his forehead before going into the kitchen and sending a message down to the kitchens. Harry had just enough energy to tap his overnight bag before lying back as it unpacked itself. Severus came in a moment later with a bowl of chicken soup for Harry and something that didn't smell nearly as good for himself. As soon as he finished eating Harry dragged himself to the bedroom and into his bed.

He let out a low moan. _His bed_. Merlin it was good. Wonderful. The mattress was soft, the pillows were soft, the blankets were warm, the bed smelled of Severus, and it was _home_. He barely noticed when Severus changed his day clothes into pajamas, though he did notice when he joined him in bed. Silk surrounded him. He'd forgotten about silk. Silk was good.

"It's not even eight," Harry muttered. "What're you doing in bed?"

"I failed to sleep last night," Severus replied, kissing just below his ear.

Harry frowned. "You do want me here, right? You weren't worried?"

"Only regarding your idiocy," Severus said. "I was working, ensuring I have no obligations this weekend."

Harry rolled over, ignoring the slight twinge in his ribs. "For me?"

Severus brushed his hair back and kissed him again. "For you."

Harry snuggled into Severus' arms, completely overcome with emotion and knowing he wouldn't want to see. "Thank you."

Severus stroked his back, making sure to steer clear of his ribs. "Do not expect such sentimentality to last."

Harry smiled. "No, that'd just be weird."

"But," Severus said slowly, pulling Harry closer before resting a hand on his lower back, "as long as I am already humiliating myself, there are perhaps a few more things to be said."

Harry tensed in anticipation, carefully keeping his gaze averted. "Oh?" he asked shakily.

"I missed you," Severus said quietly. "Falling asleep with you, holding you, kissing you."

"I missed you too," Harry whispered in awe.

"You terrify me," Severus continued. "I was certain you were going to die. When it became apparent that was not the case, I was sure you had sustained enough brain damage to—never mind, it is irrelevant. You were correct that I blame myself despite the rational evidence of knowing it was not my fault."

Harry pushed himself further into Severus' arms. "I'm here. I'm not dead."

"I am aware, I'm not stupid," Severus replied, though there was no venom in his voice. "More than that. It terrifies me I care so deeply. The last time—" He cut himself off. "I despise you, Harry Potter, for doing this to me."

"Sev…" Harry trailed off. He had no idea.

"Stop calling me that," Severus said irritably. "I'm trying to tell you something, stop interrupting." He didn't continue, and eventually Harry spoke up.

"Tell me what?"

There was a pause. "Do not leave," Severus demanded. "I love you. Do not leave me again."

Harry leaned up for a kiss, desperate for the contact. Severus obliged just as frantically.

"I never left," Harry said quietly when he broke away. "Not on purpose. I came back from the forest for you. I heard you telling me to breathe, and I did. I heard you and I felt you, your hands. I wanted my friends, but I wanted you more."

"You came far too close," Severus replied angrily. "I had no way of knowing any of that, not until I already knew you were safe."

"I'm sorry," Harry said softly, kissing his neck.

"We have been together for four years," Severus said. "I do not believe there was any hatred by the time you came to me about your condition, though of course we were not what we are now. Twenty-two years you have been alive, twenty-one I have protected you, eleven years since you came to Hogwarts, four years we have lived together, and eight months of—of this. After all that time, how can you expect me to lose you?"

Harry was close to tears. "I don't. I'm here, and I'm never going to leave."

"I want—" Severus stopped, and this time Harry didn't prompt him. He would say what he needed to in time. It might not even be tonight, and Harry promised himself that he could handle that, that he could wait. He had already said so much, and Harry was still on the edge of tears. Severus could never say another word to him and it would be okay. Merlin, he loved him more than anything, and having Severus tell him he felt the same was completion.

Harry was nearly asleep when Severus started talking again.

"After four years, I would think you understand what living with me means," he said. "How difficult I am, how unpleasant I can be, how demanding I am, and my temper."

Harry frowned slightly in confusion. "Um, yeah. I still want to live with you."

A brief pause. "You are certain?"

Harry looked up at him. "Of course."

"You know everything I am, and you still love me?" Severus asked.

Harry kissed his jaw, the only part of his face he could reach. "Yes. Severus, what is this? I didn't have a run in with a dragon to get away from you."

Severus jerked away, glaring at him. "My opinion of myself is not so low, but thank you for assuring me that others believe so."

Harry flushed. "No, that's not what I meant, I wasn't—"

"Marry me," Severus interrupted. "I cannot lose you again."

Harry gaped at him. "I—what?"

Severus' eyes hardened. "Did you mishear me?"

"N—no, I just…" Harry trailed off. Was it possible he had fallen asleep and this was a dream triggered by being home again? Did he actually have brain damage from the dragon that had just taken a long time to show itself? Was it a trick? That didn't make any sense, but neither did this.

"Forget it," Severus said coldly. He completely removed himself from physical contact and rolled over, facing away.

"No, no, Sev, stop," Harry said frantically, scooting over to him and wrapping an arm around him, resting his chin on his shoulder. "Are you sure? You'll have to talk at the ceremony, you'd have to tell people, and there'd be stuff in the papers. You're private, and—Sev, you're so private, are you sure you want this? To share your life with me? Is this just a reaction to me almost dying? Because I don't want to lose you, either, but you shouldn't change your whole life because of one dragon."

"You think I have not thought this through?" Severus asked tightly. He didn't pull away, though. "How could you possibly think I would take this lightly? I despise speaking of such things, and yet, here I am. I have seen you close to death many times, and they were not followed by any declarations."

"But…"

"Potter, get off me," Severus said, trying to shrug him off. "Congratulations, you have learned why I am so _private_, why I despite _talking_. I am sure you and your friends will have a brilliant time laughing over my humiliation, so just get the fuck off."

"Severus!" Harry shouted, and he did sit up, but it had nothing to do with his request, at least not in the way he thought. "You think so low of _me_? How dare you think I'd do something like that? Did you honestly expect that would come as anything other than a shock? I've forced myself to never even consider the possibility because I knew it wouldn't happen, I would never ask you to do that for me. You've given me so much, and—" He broke off as he realized he was crying. "Do you mean it?"

Severus spun around, also sitting. "Of course I do. I am so glad that the thought of spending your life with me reduces you to tears; it is truly an honor to bring the great Golden Boy to his knees."

"Shut up!" Harry yelled. "You idiot, of course I will! I don't pretend to understand you, but if it's really what you want, nothing would make me happier."

"Then why are you crying?" Severus sneered, his walls up in full form.

"I don't know," Harry exclaimed. "Because you're yelling at me. Because I'm confused. I'm tired, and—and you're tired, you're sleep deprived, you shouldn't be saying things like that when you're so tired. Because I think you think you mean it, but I don't think you do, and I can't say yes if you're going to change your mind when you wake up and realize you've made a mistake."

"My sleep status has nothing to do with this!" Severus spat. "You think I made this decision now? I have spent months thinking this through, examining the weight, the significance, and the consequences from every possible angle. I have been considering the possibility since I told you I wanted to kiss you the night you froze yourself and we entered the current phase of our relationship. I told you at the time I do not take this lightly, and I do not know why you would think a _proposal_ would warrant less consideration than a kiss. The idea was as intrusive as the result would be if you were to agree, and became more insistent the longer we have been together. I assure you this is not a passing fancy, and certainly not a _mistake_."

Harry was now crying so hard he could barely see. He had never been so scared in his life. He had faced down a dragon four months ago, defeated Voldemort four years ago, and, as Severus was so fond of saying, had nearly died more times than he could count. None of those could compare. He had rid himself of the idea; quarantined it, thrown it into a metal box that was dead bolted shut, locked it into the deepest vault in Gringotts, and then buried the whole thing under a cave in. After all of that effort, was it really possible that he could have it? The thought of undoing all of his work, work he hadn't even let himself consider he was doing because that would be admitting he wanted it in the first place, of letting himself believe and then having it pulled away at the last minute—he couldn't do that.

Why did Severus have to say something in the first place? Why couldn't things have just stayed the way they were? Harry was always the one pushing, needing more, and he finally understood how Severus must have felt each time he gave in, each breach of his walls. He was so tired, he just wanted a quiet night at home with the man he loved, and instead he was sobbing and Severus was looking at him with unbridled fury.

Harry wanted to say yes. He already had, sort of. All he wanted was yes, was I do, was bonding, was the promise of a life together.

"Have I ever once lied to you?" Severus hissed. "Have I given you any reason to question me? I would think the rarity of words at all would lend what I do say credibility, let alone something as large as this."

"I love you," Harry burst out, wiping his tears away. "Severus, please, I love you so much."

"Then what is the problem?" Severus asked, voice rising. "Do you plan on changing your mind?"

"Do you?" Harry challenged, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. "That was stupid, you wouldn't ask if you were planning on it, but what if you do?"

Severus looked like he was torn between rage and exasperation. "I will not."

The surety with which he spoke was too much. Harry closed the distance between them, slamming himself against Severus—sending pain shooting through his ribs in the process—and holding him as tightly as he could. "Yes. Please, please yes. You said I terrify you, and the feeling is mutual. I love you so fucking much. I can't bear the thought of overwhelming you and pushing you away, but if you promise me, if you swear that won't happen, there's nothing I want more."

Severus hugged him back just as tightly. His lips found Harry's ear, brushing against the delicate skin as he whispered, "I promise."

"Can you—" Harry sniffled back the combination of tears and snot that were pouring down his face, resulting in a revolting noise and still covering Severus' shirt with slime. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess," he said, sort of laughing.

"It's okay," Severus replied soothingly, once again stroking his back. "Can I what?"

"Can you ask again?" Harry asked quietly. "So we can pretend we didn't have this fight and it was romantic and perfect?"

Severus smiled against his ear. "No."

Harry sniffled again and pulled back just enough to see his face. He looked beautiful: calm, sure, and loving. Harry was red and blotchy, adorned with his new scar as well as his lightening bolt, leaking glop down his face. Wonderful.

"Why not?"

"This was honest," Severus replied, magicking a handkerchief out of thin air and wiping his face. "It was real, and it was us. I will not base our relationship on a fabrication. It will serve us well to remember that even when we yell, even when it feels as if we are tearing ourselves apart, all is based in love."

Fresh tears leaked out. Thank Merlin Severus didn't talk like this more often; Harry wouldn't be able to function. "Right."

"Stop crying, I cannot clean this mess if you continue like this," he directed, and Harry laughed throatily.

"You're so sweet."

"I told you the sentimentality was momentary," Severus replied. "Hold still."

Harry did, letting Severus clean him. His Severus. His—fiancée? Really? They had never used traditional words, they'd just been whatever. Then again, this was the first at least vaguely traditional step they'd taken, so maybe it was all right. When Severus declared him presentable, the handkerchief vanished, as well as the mess on his shirt. That was good; Harry loved the silken pajamas far too much to see them go. Then he was being kissed, thoroughly and sensually, and Severus slowly lowered him until he was lying on the bed. Severus was careful to keep any weight off his injured ribs as they continued to kiss, as his hand slid below Harry's shirt to trace patterns along his chest and tease pebbled nipples, as Harry whimpered beneath him and ran his hands along Severus' back, arms, face, hair, anywhere he could reach.

The kiss was broken when Harry suddenly yawned. His eyes flew open, wide and embarrassed, and Severus looked at him in surprise before smiling sleepily and kissing his forehead.

"Another night," he said, drawing Harry into his arms.

"Tomorrow night," Harry clarified, curling against him. "Tomorrow _morning_. Tomorrow afternoon. Tomorrow evening. Then tomorrow night." He paused. "I'm going to call you Sev now. Not all the time, definitely not in public, but I think I've earned it."

Severus made a quiet noise of dissent. "We will talk tomorrow."

Harry smiled. "No, of all things we'll be doing, talking isn't one of them."

"Acceptable," Severus replied, finding his hand and twining their fingers together. It had been so long since they had slept like this, and Harry felt a part of himself fall back into place.

"I love you, whoever you are," he muttered, eyes closed and already halfway asleep.

"Insufferable brat."


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N:** I'm so sorry it's been so long! Camp NaNo happened and then there was NO TIME FOR ANYTHING EVER. On the other hand, I won NaNo! Whee!

On the other other hand, this is the last chapter. I'm so sorry guys; I would have put it up way sooner if I had known. I thought publishing would be a long and difficult process that would take up much of my time. Turns out, no. Last one.

However! I'm thinking maybe an epilogue. I'm also thinking of adding to _A Misunderstanding, Sidetracked, _and _An Accidental Allegiance_. Nothing is written yet and I can't promise a date and time, but I'm not gone forever. At dawn, look to the east.

…not really.

Anyway, enjoy!

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

**84**

Saturday, Harry and Severus did indeed spend most of the day in bed. There was a lot of sex, yes, but there were also meals in bed, reading, napping, and just generally being home and together. Harry wanted to talk about what they had said last night but how exactly was he supposed to bring that up? "Hey, so we're engaged now? Maybe we should talk about that?" So whenever Harry wanted to ask about it, instead he'd kiss him, and that worked out well.

Neville came in for dinner, and Severus stayed, which was a first. Usually when he stopped by, or Harry's other friends, Severus would make himself scarce, but instead the three of them ate together in the living room, Harry on the couch, Severus on the armchair, and Neville on the floor in front of the coffee table. It was sort of awkward, but Harry was so happy that Severus was making an effort to get along with his friend that he carried the conversation. Neither he nor Severus brought up their engagement, though that was to be expected. Even if they had discussed it beforehand, Harry doubted he would want to make it known.

Severus was, however, the first to bring it up. The very moment Neville left, in fact, and in a way that not mentioning the subject made it clearer than if he had.

"Do you wish to tell your friends?"

Harry glanced at him, worried about what he would see. But Severus didn't seem upset or nervous, just considering. "Yes, eventually. I mean, we're not having a secret wedding, are we?"

"I would think not," Severus said, keeping a straight face except for the very corners of his lips, which twitched up in a smile.

"Then, er, what were you, um, asking?" Harry stammered.

Severus moved to the couch, sitting next to Harry. "How you wish to tell people," he said. "In person, I assume, but would my presence be beneficial? As for Minerva and the rest of the school, would you prefer I handle them? Have you given any thought to the press?"

He had, in fact, given thought to all of these things in the past twenty-four hours. It was hard not to, given that he was _marrying Severus Snape_. A more important question came to mind. "Do you want me to take your name?"

Severus' eyebrows shot up. "I—ah, I had not—what do you wish?"

Had Harry actually surprised him? Was the first question that came out of his mouth one that had never occurred to Severus? Harry had to suppress a wild giggle. "I don't know, just something to think about."

"Indeed," Severus said, sounding far away. He came back to himself. "You interrupted me. We were speaking of telling people."

"Right, sorry." Harry considered. "You hate talking, right? So it'd probably be better if I did it. I'll tell my friends not to spread it around, and the staff will be discreet if we ask. The _Prophet_…" He trailed off, troubled. "You're so private, and I don't want to spread your business everywhere, but they'll find out eventually, so it might be better just to get it over with?" He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't want to push you, though, or overwhelm you, or—"

Severus stopped him with a kiss. "I told you not to worry about that, did I not? We will do as I said; you will inform your friends, I will speak to the staff, and we will leave the press out of it for as long as possible."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, sounds good. Luna might know someone. I've sort of lost touch with her since she started travelling, but she publishes papers pretty regularly, even a few in the _Prophet_, and she'd have nothing to do with Rita Skeeter. So eventually, if we need to do something, I can owl her first."

Severus looked as though he had eaten something very sour. "If you insist."

"Would you rather Skeeter?" Harry asked, and Severus glared at him. "Can we wait to tell anyone here until I talk to Ron and Hermione? Next weekend maybe?"

"Take as much time as you need," Severus replied, and Harry thought he was grateful for the delay. He was being incredible about the whole thing, and so if Ron and Hermione would happen to be busy for the next few weeks, just coincidentally, that might be beneficial.

"I'll write them tomorrow and set up a time for a visit," Harry said. He paused, wondering how much they could talk. Did Severus just want to get this part out of the way and not intend on making any further plans until the time came, or would it be all right to ask? "So, um." Harry fidgeted, nervously tugging on the sleeves of his sweater. Severus', technically, but ever since he had accidentally borrowed it in February, it seemed to sneak into his side of the closet and onto his person with increasing frequency. "Did you have an idea of, er, when? Or how?"

After a moment, Severus asked, "For the wedding?" Harry nodded, blushing furiously. "No. Given our schedule, I would think early September and mid June to be unwise. And—" His eyes flicked away for a moment before returning to meet Harry's gaze. "I would like to avoid the fifteenth of August." Harry gave him a questioning look, and he winced, once again looking away. "My parents'," he said shortly. "Beyond that, you are far more concerned with tradition, sentimentality, and symbolism than I. The choice is yours."

"I assume you want something small," Harry said. He did, too, but if it seemed like he was letting Severus have it as a token of love, then maybe he would understand how much it meant to him that they were doing this. "Maybe just going to the Ministry? Is that how it works? I've only been to Bill and Fleur's wedding—Ron's older brother—and that was, um, festive. I was barely conscious for the part of Ron and Hermione's wedding I could go to, and that was only hugs and retellings of the actual ceremony. I don't know how these things are supposed to go."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Hopefully with neither excess festivity nor a visit to St. Mungo's. We could go to the Ministry, yes. If you desire a small ceremony beyond the signing of papers and the enactment of the bond, I would not object too strenuously."

"I want Ron, Hermione, and Neville there," Harry said firmly. "Other than that, I guess I don't really know."

Severus kissed his forehead, then his lips. "There is no need to rush. The answers will come when the time is right. I saw you eyeing the chessboard earlier, yes?" Harry smiled slightly and nodded. He loved how Severus noticed everything, at least until it made him want to permanently blind the man. "I have one last question, and then we shall play."

"Yeah?" Harry asked, assuming it was something inconsequential. If it were important, surely he wouldn't have asked about chess first.

Severus was suddenly holding a small black velvet box, and Harry's heart stopped. Apparently he would ask about chess first despite the importance of the question. Harry's eyes were glued to the box as the lid flipped open on its own, revealing a ring set into velvet. The band was white gold or platinum, breaking into what were no doubt supposed to be vines but could look like nothing other than serpents to Harry towards the center. The bottom two gems were emeralds and the top two rubies. Secured between the four stones was a diamond, sending off glints of reflected firelight.

"Do you like it?"

Severus sounded far away again, but Harry thought that was probably his fault this time. He reached out and brushed his fingers across the ring before daring to pick it up. Rationally he knew it was wizard jewelry and would take a goblin to break it, and a determined one at that, but it felt so delicate and fragile in his fingers. Of course he liked it, what a stupid question. It was bloody perfect, and Severus knew that full well. He started to slip it onto his finger when Severus smacked the top of his hand and took the ring from him.

"That is not for you to do," he said irritably, using the voice reserved for exceptionally stupid first years. "Answer my question. Is this the ring you want? Do you want a ring at all?"

"I want it," Harry answered, barely able to speak. "Yes."

"You wish for no changes?" Severus asked a little less crossly.

Harry shook his head. "No, it's perfect."

"All right, then," Severus said, huffy but pleased. He slid the ring onto Harry's finger, which Harry watched with a sort of awe. There was movement out of the corner of his eye, and he saw the chess set arrive and start to set itself up.

"No," Harry said loudly, louder than he meant to. He lowered his voice, taking the box from Severus' hand and putting it on the table next to the board. "No, not chess, not yet."

Severus groaned quietly. "You desire to speak of feelings, yes?"

"No," Harry repeated, this time with a sly smile. He pushed closer to Severus, draping a leg over his and taking his hand, massaging the calloused palm. He could feel the weight of his ring the whole time. "I don't want to talk at all." He set Severus' hand on his zip, on his very obvious bulge. "You've got unfinished business."

Severus' eyes darkened and his expression turned predatory. "I can't have that, now can I?" He pulled Harry into his lap, and while they rid each other of all clothing as the minutes ticked by, Harry's ring remained on.

The chess game didn't start for nearly an hour.

**85**

Sunday after lunch, Harry "returned" to Hogwarts. He kept Severus at his side with a death grip on his hand and awkwardly smiled and accepted well-wishes as he walked from Minerva's office, where he officially Flooed into, and down to his quarters. She stayed for a cup of tea, as did Neville, while Harry furiously tapped his finger against his thigh and stared anxiously at the clock. A small team of herpetologists and Healers would be arriving at two, and for the first time since the attack, he was going to attempt to change. Severus, Minerva, and Neville were all doing a terrible job of distracting him, and so instead of participate in forced conversation he tapped and held Severus' hand and, with a small smile, thought about the small box in his sock drawer.

All thoughts of the small box flew out of his head as they started outside. They met with the team in the front hall, and Harry numbly shook hands attached to names he that went in one ear and out the other. There were three scientists and five Healers, plus Poppy, who joined them a moment later, explaining her lateness away with a tirade directed at Minerva regarding Bludger protocol. Then she seemed to see Harry for the first time, and offered him a rare sympathetic look before the group headed outside. It had been decided to perform the tests by the lake. The reasoning remained unspoken, but it was obvious enough. If Harry's burns hadn't healed at all and he was still smoking and charred, the cold water could offer relief.

Could.

He tightened his grip on Severus' hand, and he squeezed back reassuringly.

Minerva set up a perimeter when they reached the shore, preventing any students from watching. Harry had been too nervous to notice, but they had attracted a small following. All eyes were on him as he fumbled the familiar potions out of his pocket and downed his eye and pain preventatives. He had never stopped taking Vita Salvus, of course. He had asked Neville to come, but his friend looked even more nervous than he did, and he was really starting to regret the decision. Shaking, he turned to Severus, burying his face in his neck.

"I love you," Harry whispered. "Whatever happens—"

"Nothing is going to happen," Severus interrupted quietly. "The worst scenario is nothing more than a few scars."

They both knew that wasn't true, and Harry wondered if he knew that his lies were more disconcerting than the truth. He leaned up and kissed Severus, which was immediately returned despite the small audience.

Harry spoke in Parseltongue as he said, "If something happens and this kills me, I want to be buried with my ring."

"You would not be alive in this form if your other were dead," Severus replied firmly.

"Maybe," Harry said, and that was the truth. Nobody had been in his position before. As far as Animagi and werewolves went that was true, but a were-Basilisk? Realistically, Harry knew he probably wouldn't actually be dead, but if changing somehow suspended his wounds, or if he tore through his healed human skin and had to start the recovery process from the beginning… He could be nothing but a mass of unidentifiable scars and ash. "Probably. But whatever happens, I love you."

Severus kissed him again, fisting one hand in his hair and wrapping the other around his waist. "Be careful," he said softly.

Harry laughed hollowly. "Yeah, all right." The words sounding strange and foreign in his mouth, and remembering to speak in English so those who didn't speak Parseltongue would understand, he said, "I want to change."

His skin stretched the way it was supposed to, that was the first thing he noticed. In his human form it had been for a while now, but he hadn't exactly put the amount of strain on himself that changing into a Basilisk required. His bones creaked a little, and for a moment he was terrified that his ribs were breaking along the fracture lines, but when his skeleton settled down, it seemed everything was okay. He still had a few less ribs on his right side, but an experimental swish confirmed his spine was fully functional, and really, snakes had so many ribs as it was, he could stand to lose a handful. His muscles behaved the same as they always did. Nothing was immediately painful, he wasn't gushing blood, and he didn't smell burning. There were, however, places along his body that felt strange, the places where he had been blasted with fire, and he thought he might have a scar on the side of this head, too.

Now if only he could open his eyes to assess the damage.

Or if someone else would bloody _say something_, so he'd have some idea of what to expect. He couldn't ask, that would seem weak and foolish, but if someone _else_ said something, that would really fucking help.

"You should have changed back sooner," one of the herpetologists said finally. "We could have helped."

That was enough. Harry's eyes flew open and he contorted so he could fully see himself. The scars that were small and faint on his human ribs were mottled grey lumps along his side and, presumably, his head. The places where he had been burned were scorched down to the skin, leaving whitish patches where scales should have been. It didn't hurt, and it seemed properly healed, but he felt incredibly vulnerable without his armor. The end of his tail was drastically thinner than it used to be, tapering off until the very tip of his bone stuck out. His vision started to swim, but he forced himself back with the knowledge that it didn't hurt, either, and he could move it and feel it and, despite looking like something out of a nightmare, was fine.

"May we touch?" a different herpetologist asked, and Harry hissed out a defeated yes that Severus translated. He lay still as careful hands felt along his wounds. He could barely feel the scar tissue at all, and the burned areas were overly sensitive. Would he still be able to go out in the Forest? Did he have enough protection for branches and rocks and whatever else was hidden beneath innocuous dead leaves? And what if he got attacked again? His weak spots couldn't be more obvious. Now that he thought about it, no doubt the entire forest and all creatures within knew about the attack. If they saw him now, like this, if it was clear that he could be seriously injured, would he still have a place there? His biggest defense was carefully deactivated before each change. What if the Forest's natural inhabitants decided they didn't want him bothering them anymore, and decided to drive him out? There wasn't anything he could do about it. They'd know not to get close enough to let him bite them, and all they'd have to do was target his bare skin.

"Ah! Look here!" one of the herpetologists suddenly exclaimed, and while Harry tried to crane his head so he could see, all three scientists and the two Healers who weren't by his tale were gathered around one of the burn marks, blocking his view. They were all talking very quickly and on top of each other, and even with his enhanced hearing, he couldn't tell what was going on. For a moment he was excited, and then he remembered how far centaurs could shoot arrows, and how little they liked to be disturbed. They might have saved him once, but that didn't guarantee him safe passage in the future.

"Mr. Potter, how big was the burned area immediately following the attack?" someone asked him. Now that the herpetologists and Healers were in the same place they were indistinguishable in identical white lab coats.

"I don't remember," Harry said. "Everywhere, I guess?"

Severus repeated his words, and then gave his own account in much more detail. Harry turned to Neville, only realizing now that his friend couldn't understand him, and had every reason to hate this form. He thought his presence would be comforting, but Harry couldn't even convey that he needed comfort. Neville was a ways back, behind Minerva, but when he saw Harry looking at him, he slowly came over.

"How're you doing?" Neville asked anxiously.

Harry wanted to cry. He shouldn't have put Neville through this, and the fact that it hadn't even occurred to him that it would be difficult was a testament to his never ending selfishness. He closed his eyes and turned away, wondering how long this would take and if Severus would let him have dinner in bed or insist he go down to the Great Hall. Maybe he'd just go over to the Forest and find some squirrels and see if he was still welcome. He'd definitely have to talk to the centaurs soon and thank them, especially Firenze.

Suddenly someone was pulling on one of his scales, trying to pry it up, and Harry let out an angry hiss and jerked away.

"What the hell? Don't think I've lost enough already?"

"Harry, that was over the burned area," Severus replied, though he did run a gentle hand over the scale to calm him. "It appeared that you would be unable to grow new scales, but you already have. We did not notice because they hid the rest of the scarred area. If you look closely, as Dr. Rousseau has, you can see there are almost unnoticeable budding scales along the edges of the exposed area."

Harry brightened considerably. "Yeah?"

"We cannot guarantee if the rest of the area will fill in, but this is very good news," one of the white lab coats said, and judging by her French accent, quite possibly Dr. Rousseau. "Even now, your skin is very thick and hardened. You are not as damaged as you appear."

Harry flicked his tongue in happiness. "What about my scars? And my tail?"

Severus relayed the questions, and Dr. Rousseau—if it was her—laughed lightly. "You look very dangerous."

Harry grinned. He decided he liked her. A lot. "Severus, I missed names. Is that Dr. Rousseau?"

"Yes," Severus said plainly, saving Harry the embarrassment.

"Thank her for me."

The rest of the examination was much better. Scales were growing back along the tip of his tail as well, and while they were smaller, they didn't appear any weaker. The tip of bone would always be there, as would the puncture scars, but Harry decided that as long as he already looked like a monster, he might as well look like a scarred monster, one who had battled a dragon and lived to fight another day.

He also had Severus tell Neville that he was sorry for making him be here and he should leave, which Neville vehemently protested. He said, rather bashfully, that he'd always wanted to see Harry like this but hadn't known how to ask, and as long as there were always matured Mandrakes in the greenhouses, he wasn't angry anymore.

After Harry was checked over, he was told to move around, to see how he felt. It was disconcerting to do so on the open grounds rather than the seclusion of the forest, but only for the first few seconds. He felt _good_. It was like stretching muscles after a long sleep. There was none of the atrophied weakness his human form had experienced, just the unbridled power he was used to. No pain, no limitations. It felt like home. Even better—it felt like spending months wracked with anxiety about your home burning down, only to discover it was waiting for you all along. When Harry returned to the group by the lake, he changed back into his human form and, still sitting in the grass, burst into tears. Severus, Dr. Rousseau, and Poppy were all at his side immediately, asking what was wrong, but it took several minutes for Harry to get his point across.

Nothing was wrong.

**86**

Ron and Hermione came out two weeks later, and Severus conveniently left so they could have dinner alone without having to go to Hogsmeade, which Severus refused to let Harry do without accompanying him. Neville came over as well, and they spent the meal catching up and, in Hermione's case, fussing over Harry and making sure he was okay, and in Harry's case bothering Hermione right back about when she and Ron were going to start having kids (which successfully got her to leave him alone), while Ron and Neville talked about Quidditch.

Harry came back from the kitchen with dessert and a nervously twisting stomach. Severus was telling the staff tonight, maybe even at this very minute, and his friends needed to find out from him, not from gossip. The house elves had sent up a small cake—Harry wasn't sure why, it didn't seem to be a special enough occasion—and he started talking while he was cutting it.

"Ron, remember when you proposed to Hermione?" he said carefully, handing Ron a slice.

"You mean when George did it for me?" Ron replied. "That's not the sort of thing you forget."

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, hitting the side of his head.

"I wouldn't have forgotten if I'd done it myself!" Ron said hurriedly. "I mean the whole thing! Proposing at all, it's memorable! George just makes things—more memorable."

Harry quickly handed Hermione her own piece of cake, which was sufficiently distracting. "What do you want to know?" she asked. "You were there, surely you remember as well."

"Aren't you more interested in _why_ he wants to know?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"I'd think that's obvious," Hermione replied. "Go on, Harry. Ask away."

"I wasn't there," Neville said morosely, poking his cake with his fork. "I'm _never_ there."

Harry patted his friend on his shoulder as he addressed Ron. "Well, er, how were you planning on, um…?" He trailed off, knowing they would misinterpret the question but not brave enough to correct it.

"You know," Ron said, still managing to sound confused around a mouthful of cake. "I was going to ask her on New Year's Eve. Resolving to be hers forever and all."

Hermione looked at him with the sort of expression Harry hated. "You never told me that. Ron, that's so sweet." Ron flushed while Harry rolled his eyes.

"Someone's turned cynical," Neville commented.

"Shove off," Harry replied. "And Ron, that's not what I meant."

"What, do you want to know if I was going to go down on one knee?" Ron asked. "Do all the traditional stuff? Because Snape's not exactly traditional, and he hates talking, so if you've really thought it through and have decided this is how you want to end your life, I'd just spit it out in as few words as possible. 'Marry me', something like that."

Harry kept his face neutral despite the fact that those were the exact words Severus had used. "No, er, that's not it, either."

"Then what?" Ron asked, exasperated.

"Harry, wait," Neville interrupted. "You know how we've talked about being stupid? I think this is being stupid. Not you-should-go-for-it stupid, but actual stupid."

"You guys are so nice," Harry snapped. "You really think I couldn't get married?"

"No, of course not!" Hermione said. "You're very desirable!"

"So it's Severus," Harry countered. "Just Severus who wouldn't want me."

"Harry, that's not it at all," Hermione replied. "It's just he's—"

"Difficult," Neville supplied. "And different. Private, too."

"Could you not call him desirable?" Ron said suddenly. "No offense, Harry, but 'Mione, really?"

She shook him off with a wave of her hand. "You know what we mean."

Harry silently summoned the box from its place in his sock drawer and sent it onto the table, opening the lid. "I wanted to know how you were going to tell your family," he said. "That you were engaged. Hermione, you especially, since Ron had already talked to me about how to propose so I knew. George too, obviously, and a few others. But the people who didn't know, especially your closest friends, how you're supposed to tell them that you're getting married."

The room was silent, and Harry calmed down a little.

"I didn't believe him at first either, to be obvious," he said. "We got into a huge fight, like all good proposals. But he loves me, even if you don't believe it. He'll never act like he does around me around you, but if you could just be a little happy for me, I'd really appreciate it."

"I'm happy," Neville said immediately. "Confused, but happy. I know how happy he makes you and how good he is to you. He might be private, but I see you two together. If you're sure, and I know you and you don't do things when you aren't, especially when it comes to him, then I'm thrilled."

"Yeah, Harry, I just thought he'd never agree," Ron added, sounding sort of awed. "He'd never compromise, probably doesn't know the definition of the word, so if he said yes, go for it. Be happy."

Hermione picked up the box and was looking at the ring in amazement. "Harry didn't ask," she said quietly. "Severus did. He was prepared, and he had this ring made. It's beautiful, by the way, and incredibly romantic. How did he ask? And when? I assume you waited to tell us until we were together, and we haven't seen you in a while."

"The night I got home from St. Mungo's," Harry replied. "He said—" He stammered. He didn't know how much of what Severus had said he'd want known, other than as little as possible. The things he had said were so sweet and romantic and, yes, private. But they were Harry's best friends, and he wanted to tell them. To defend Severus. "He said he missed me, and he doesn't want to lose me. He told me that he'd been thinking about it for a long time. He loves me. And he asked me to marry him."

"What was the fight about?" she asked.

"_Did_ he get down on one knee?" Ron added, not looking particularly like he wanted to know.

"No, we were in bed," Harry said. "We fought because I didn't say yes right away. I was—I was scared, because of what you guys said, and because I love him. Because after everything we've been together, I couldn't stand the idea of losing him if he changed his mind."

"But you did say yes," Ron clarified.

"Of course," Harry replied. "We, um." He laughed nervously. "We love each other." Hermione handed him the box, and he put the ring on. He was overwhelmed with the same sort of rush from their first kiss, when Harry had kissed him in celebration over Vita Salvus. _Of course_. A breath of fresh air for his soul.

Another round of awkward silence before Ron blurted out, "So when's the big day?"

Harry shrugged. "Don't know yet. He said I could decide. I don't even know what we're doing yet. But you three will be there, right?"

"Of course," Neville said, and Ron and Hermione chorused agreements.

"Should we not tell anyone?" Hermione asked.

"It's fine," Harry replied. "Severus is telling the staff now. I assume the entire wizarding world will not within the hour."

"He's volunteering personal information?" Ron asked dubiously.

"Yeah, um, he is," Harry said awkwardly. "But only to get out in front of it and tell less. He figured it'd be easier to just say it outright than rumors and stuff."

"Probably wise," Hermione mused. "You said you don't know what you're doing? I can't imagine Snape being one for a big wedding."

"Yeah, definitely something small," Harry said. "We might just go to the Ministry, I really don't know. But I promise I'll tell you when I know."

"Just don't let Mum get wind of a small ceremony," Ron said. "You know what she did to our wedding." He gave Hermione a horrified glance, realizing what he had said. "I didn't—it was perfect, I just—"

She laughed. "I know. I don't think Snape would like a Weasley wedding."

Harry smiled. "No, probably not. Your mum picked the date, right?"

"We had some say," Ron replied defensively. "We picked the season."

Harry paused for a moment, debating whether or not to ask about his idea. It seemed grossly saccharine even in his head, let alone out loud. "I was thinking February?"

His friends exchanged a look.

"The fourteenth?" Neville asked apprehensively.

"Why—what, no, of course not!" Harry exclaimed. "Merlin, I'm not pathetic. Why does everyone think I'm pathetic? The twenty-second. It's the day we decided we were whatever we were. The first time we fooled around. And, um. It was the first time he said he loved me. Also it's a Saturday next year, so that works."

"That's really romantic," Hermione said, looking a little misty eyed. "Have you mentioned it to him?"

Harry shook his head. "I dunno. Talking to him about this sort of thing is, uh—not that easy."

"I'll be the only one who's single," Neville sighed. "Invite a cute girl, Harry? For me? It's fine if it's a small wedding, you've only got to ask one, as long as it's the right one."

"I would if I knew any," Harry said apologetically.

"Come to our Christmas party," Hermione said. "I'll ask Fleur to invite a few of her cousins."

Neville perked up at that, and conversation turned to the mundane.

**87**

The blizzard on the twenty-second of February turned out to be a blessing. The combination of the weather and the weekend meant the Ministry was nearly empty, and the small group of well-dressed wizards walking through the halls was largely ignored. The only strange look they got was from a goblin, and that was more of annoyance at the entire elevator being taken up by wizards. Hermione directed them to the right floor and then down a maze of hallways, surprising nobody with her encyclopedic knowledge of the Ministry.

Severus knocked on the door, and held Harry's hand as they were led into a waiting room. Harry fidgeted nervously, pulling on the cuff of his dress robes, and Severus slapped his hand away, telling him he looked fine. Minerva arranged herself carefully in one of the seats. Ron made loud comments about how good a friend he was for being here for Harry when Harry had missed their wedding and was shushed by Hermione, and protested that he was joking because Harry was clearly nervous and needed to relax. Neville had a hand in his pocket, worrying a small box.

The door on the other side of the room opened, and Harry held Severus back, letting his friends go ahead. Severus' brows knit together.

"Is everything all right?"

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Harry asked quickly, words stumbling together. "I know you've said things, but you've said other things, and I don't know—"

Severus silenced him with a kiss. "I am sure."

Harry's heart was slamming around in his chest and he wasn't sure his feet were connecting with the ground. "You're sure?"

"Are you?" Severus asked. "Either you are refusing to listen and forcing me to repeat myself, purposefully irritating me on today of all days, or you are transferring."

Harry's eyes widened. "No! There's nothing that would make me happier. As long as you're sure."

Severus looked at him like he wasn't sure if he wanted to yell or—or yell, really. There was love, a lot of love, but still annoyance. "Do not ask me to repeat myself," he said lowly. "If you truly question my sincerity, we are leaving now. I will do nothing if you are unsure."

"I'm sure," Harry insisted. He looked down at his left hand, twisting his engagement ring around and around. "You know I'm going to be in your life forever, right? Even when you hate me, even when I touch your things, or blow up your favorite cauldron by mistake? I'm not—I love you. I'm not leaving."

Severus smiled, gently stroking Harry's cheek. "That is the point, Harry." His eyes turned playful. "If you touch my favorite cauldron, however, there will be a problem."

Harry smiled back, leaning into his touch. "Okay, let's go."

There was a lot of paperwork. Harry and Severus both had to present identification, which Harry thought was a little ridiculous, given how he was. They were checked for any indication of magic, in case of force, coercion, or identity fraud. Minerva and Ron, who were signing as witnesses, went through the same procedure. Then Harry and Severus were presented with the official papers, and Harry found he wasn't nervous at all. His quill was a few millimeters away from the parchment when Severus laid a hand on his, stopping him. Harry turned to him, terrified. He was changing his mind, he didn't mean it, he—

"You promise not to touch my cauldron?" Severus asked quietly.

Harry laughed in relief. "Promise."

"I will hold you to that," Severus said, letting go of his hand. They both signed, Ron and Minerva added their signatures, and the Ministry official asked for Harry and Severus' hands. The magic was in Latin that Harry didn't understand, but that was fine. Instead he watched as golden threads of magic flowed along their hands, twining in the space between their hands. The gold suddenly glowed brighter, and a fantastic tingling spread through him, originating from the filaments and growing as it went.

Slowly the light faded, and then Neville and Hermione stepped forward, each with a small box. Harry took the one from Neville as Severus took Hermione's, and Harry took Severus' hand first, sliding his ring on with a dreamy fascination. Severus put Harry's ring on, the platinum band expanding to fit over his engagement ring before shrinking down to fit his finger. Severus cupped Harry's face and gently kissed him.

"I love you," Severus said softly.

Harry stepped closer, making sure there wasn't so much as a single molecule between them. "I love you, too."

"Are you ready to leave?" Severus asked, trailing his hands down to Harry's arms in preparation of apparation.

"Mhm," Harry sighed, melting against him.

Severus lowered his voice, brushing his lips against Harry's ear. "You did add the Ghost Orchid petals to the Luxuriosa spiritum before we left, yes?"

Harry jerked, eyes flying open. "I, er…"

Severus let out a quiet groan and dropped his hands. "I ask you to do one thing, one simple thing, and you cannot manage. We have—" He glanced at the clock on the wall. "—forty-seven minutes in which to add the petals before the potion becomes unusable. The decision is yours; return to Hogwarts and attempt to save the potion you have spent three months cultivating, or arrive at the hotel on time, ensuring you do not anger the staff into subpar treatment."

Harry tapped his finger anxiously, looking at the clock and then Severus. "Uh…" He squeezed his eyes shut. "Goddammit, I want to fix the bloody thing. I don't even care about it; so what if I can plate metal with opalescence? Who cares?"

"Then abandon the potion," Severus countered.

Harry glared at him. "You know I can't. Come on, let's just get this over with."

Severus kissed his temple. "Longbottom's predictions have finally come true. You are indeed turning into me, choosing a potion over our honeymoon."

"Never mind," Harry said immediately. "We're going now." He grabbed Severus' arm, and with a loud crack, they apparated to the hotel. He glanced around, then looked at Severus sheepishly. "So, er, I couldn't let Neville see that, but I'm just going to run back to Hogwarts really quick and take care of the Luxuriosa, okay? Do you mind checking us in and getting everything ready?"

Severus laughed, a deep, rich sound Harry loved. "Go."

Harry squeezed his hand. "Thanks. I'll be back in a few."

"Make sure to return in time for our reservations," Severus cautioned. "_L'Ambroisie_ at six."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You think we're leaving the hotel room tonight?"

Severus' eyes flashed. "We have been on the books for months."

Harry smiled roguishly. "I thought you might enjoy room service."

"Not for dinner," Severus said firmly.

Harry groaned. "Uptight stuck up prick. Fine. I'll be back by six. Goodbye."

Severus stole a quick kiss before he left. "My impertinent brat, bound to me forever. What a joy."

"Love you too, Sev."

"Do not call me that!"

**The end.**

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